GI Joe: Breaker's Story
by John McGregor
Summary: It's February 1991, and while the rest of the G.I. Joe team is getting prepped for a mission to Trucial Abymsia, Communications Officer Breaker has uncovered intelligence of their enemy's plans to create a new super soldier. Teaming up with Quick Kick, the two travel to Madrid on a mission neither will ever forget.


_Breaker's Story_

**GI Joe: Breaker's Story**

By John McGregor

**Abstract**

It's February 1991, and while the rest of the G.I. Joe team is getting prepped for a mission to Trucial Abymsia, Communications Officer Breaker has uncovered intelligence of their enemy's plans to create a new super soldier. Teaming up with Quick Kick, the two travel to Madrid on a mission neither will ever forget.

**Dedication**

This story is dedicated to all those over the past three years who have helped edit, provide feedback, and creative insight. A special shout out to my wife, Sarah, and Robert, who provided some great ideas which made this story possible.

**Chapter 1**

**February 1991**

Reston, Virginia  
Friday 

The archive room resided seven stories below the newly built recruitment offices. Tall black file cabinets lined the cement walls, and a green and brass desk lamp lit a musty lime glow, illuminating the room. A laminate study table, covered in various notebooks, paper and photos, was tucked away in a far corner of the room. Sitting on a blue shell stack chair was Communications Officer Breaker, leaning over and popping bubble gum bubbles as he frantically whispered to himself, shifting the papers and notebooks in front of him.

Breaker wore a solid olive button-down shirt with standard tan combat pants and black boots. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a small piece of Double Bubble, tore off the wrapper, and tucked the powdery pink glob behind his cheek. Another large bubble popped as Breaker finally leaned back in his chair, letting out an excited breath.

The sounds of footsteps began to echo from the far end of the room, and Breaker peered across the dark silhouettes of the file cabinets to the door. A large form walked into the archives room heading directly toward him. Rising from his chair, Breaker saluted his commanding officer as he came into focus.

Standing above Breaker, Duke returned the salute and gestured for Breaker to return to sit. Pulling over a nearby desk, Duke sat, looking at Breaker with a tired enthusiasm, scanning the items on the desk.

"I'm afraid to ask why you dragged me down here on our last day off before we prep for our mission to Trucial Abysmia?" Duke crossed his arms across his tan button down, tapping his sienna combat boot on the linoleum tile, waiting for Breaker to reply.

Breaker popped another bubble and gave Duke a wink before wrestling through the papers on the desk. Wisps of brown hair fell across his cheeks as he pushed them back with his hand. Grabbing a black notebook, he opened it to a page marked by a red ribbon. Pointing, Breaker looked to Duke and smiled.

"Remember the raid last month in London when we uncovered that Cobra cell?" Breaker asked. Duke nodded silently, unsure where Breaker was going.

"I found this journal taped behind the back of a file cabinet we recovered. This is Dr. Mindbender's journal, his notes from when he created Serpentor." Breaker replied.

Duke's eyes widened and he instinctually took the journal from the desk and started flipping through the pages.

_Serpentor_. The genetic super soldier Cobra created using DNA from the world's greatest conquerors. With some of the best strategic minds in military history, Serpentor's only goal was conquest. He immediately injected himself in Cobra's inner circle, taking over the reigns, swiftly beginning a violent campaign, resulting in thousands of lives lost.

"What have you found?" Duke asked, now intently reading as he waited for Breaker to continue.

"Everything. From the recipe that created Serpentor, to the initial plans to contain and control him." Breaker replied.

Duke had stopped reading and stared at Breaker with a look of concern, cocking his eyebrow.

"Well you must have found something to drag me all the way down here. What have you got?" Duke replied. While Breaker loved to build suspense, Duke preferred getting to the facts. Breaker shifted in his chair as Duke crossed his arms again, flexing his triceps.

"It isn't really what was in the journal that was so concerning, but what fell out of it." Breaker said, grabbing two papers from the desk. Duke let out a frustrating sigh as he waited for Breaker's revelation. Catching a glimpse of the irritation on Duke's face, Breaker quickly continued.

"These two photos were inside the journal when I found it. They appear to be from another notebook. The handwriting doesn't match Mindbender's." Breaker said as Duke took the photos and set down the journal. Breaker watched as Duke meticulously examined the photos.

"I saw a watermark on the bottom of the pages. I was able to enhance it and found this." Breaker said as he handed Duke another paper.

The image was pixilated and fuzzy, but Duke could make out the outline of a solid mask in front of a large ornate dagger.

"Destro's mark." Duke whispered as he shifted back to the other photos.

"Yes." Breaker replied. "From what I can tell, these photos are pages from Destro's personal journal."

Duke finally looked up to Breaker with an inquisitive expression. Breaker popped another small bubble.

"What does Mindbender want with Destro's journal?" Duke questioned.

Breaker gently took the photos from Duke's hand and laid them out on the desk in front of them. He pointed at the picture on the right, which displayed a sketch of a woman, her arms and legs spread wide. Around her, were multiple circles and symmetrical shapes.

"It looks like Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man." Duke stated. Breaker nodded, grabbing Mindebender's journal as he flipped it open and laid it on the desk next to the photo.

"Exactly. This drawing corresponds to Mindbender's notes to create Serpentor. See, here's Mindbender's sketch in his journal." Breaker paused as he pointed to a page in the open journal of a similar sketch. "Below the drawing are the names of the individual's DNA they used to create Serpentor; Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Attila the Hun, Alexander the Great, Hannibal, and Genghis Khan."

Duke looked down at the journal and then back to the photo. He frowned and looked up at Breaker.

"So, what was Destro working on? Another Serpentor?" Duke asked.

"That's what I'm thinking." Breaker said as he pointed to the text on the photo below the drawing. "There are seven names listed. Culebra, Khutulun, Fu Hao, Lozen, Zenobia, Amina, and Romée. Do you recognize any of these?" Breaker asked. Duke looked over the list of names and nodded.

"The first one, _culebra. _It's an island in the Caribbean." Duke stated.

"It is." Breaker responded quickly. "I saw that too. So I cross checked everything we had on Destro in the Caribbean."

"What did you find?" Duke asked.

"Nothing." Breaker stated flatly. "Like you're probably thinking, I thought that's where Destro might have a laboratory or something, but then I looked more closely at the other names." Breaker said, pointing to the photo. Duke frowned again, waiting for Breaker to continue.

"Lozen." Breaker stated, pointing to the second name listed. "She was a warrior of the Chihenne Chiricarua Apache. Skilled, but also revered prophet. She was said to have a second sight when it came to learning the movements of her enemy." Breaker moved to the next name.

"Zenobia. Or Septimia Zenobia, a Syrian queen who reigned during the Palmyrene Empire. Her strategic expertise brought the eastern Roman empire under her control, ultimately resulting in the annexation of Egypt." He moved on.

"Khutulun, or otherwise known as _Moonlight,_ was the daughter of Kaidu, cousin to Kublaikhan." Breaker moved to the fourth name. "Fu Hao, or Lady Hao, one of Wu Ding's wives during the Shang Dynasty. A military general, she also served as a high priestess."

Breaker looked up at Duke who was staring at him, waiting for him to go on. However, the impatience had left his face, leaving only natural wonder. Breaker moved his finger to the second to last name.

"Amina. Hausa warrior and queen of the Zazzau, now present-day Nigeria. She expanded her control throughout lands that stretched to the Ivory Coast." Breaker paused as his finger reached the last name. _Romée_.

"And Romée? Who is she?" Duke asked eagerly.

"At the turn of the fifteenth century, a woman named Isabelle Romée married a Jacques d'Arc. They had a daughter…" Breaker explained before Duke interrupted him with a whisper.

"…Joan of Arc."

"Yes. Joan of Arc." Breaker confirmed. "And when you go back to the first name listed, _culebra, _its Spanish translation is _snake_, like _serpiente_. However, _culebra _has the female ending meaning…" Breaker said as Duke finished his sentence again.

"…a female Serpentor." Duke's bottom jaw un-characteristically dropped open. His eyes started to dart left and right as his brain made multiple connections before snapping back at Breaker.

"Do you know if Destro succeeded?" Duke asked quickly.

"I don't think so, no." Breaker said as he pointed to the second page. "This lists multiple coordinates around the world."

"Coordinates? Where?" Duke replied.

"New Mexico, Syria, Mongolia, Beijing, and Nigeria. Each place corresponds to a location of a possible last resting place of each for the individuals listed on the other page." Breaker said, looking up at Duke again. Duke raised his hand over his mouth, deep in thought.

"So Destro was acquiring the DNA of each of these woman. Just like he and Mindbender did before to create Serpentor." Duke stated, realizing the gravity of what Breaker had presented him with.

"Yes, except for this last coordinate, or coordinates." Breaker stated, pointing to the last two coordinates listed. One had been crossed out, while the other one was circled twice in red ink. He pointed to the one that was crossed out.

"This address corresponds to an apothecary in Paris where the supposed ashes and femur of Joan of Arc were found. However, a series of recent, and classified DNA tests, debunked these relics as fakes. Hence why it is crossed out." Breaker stated. Duke stared with his hand still resting over his mouth.

"So, what about this last coordinate? The one circled in red?" Duke asked. Breaker gave a forced smile before he took a deep breath.

"This corresponds to the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge." Breaker paused as he began rummaging through the other papers on the desk. Under a map, he pulled out a photo of a painting of Joan of Arc. "Joan of Arc, by John Everett Millais."

Duke leaned forward to get a good look at the painting. Joan of Arc was depicted as a young woman. Her skin was a soft honey, and her helmet rested on the ground beside her. She was adorned in silver armor with a bright crimson tunic, kneeling, looking up toward the heavens with an abandoned visage. The deep red tasset around her legs draped to the ground. The painting was both polarizing and captivating. Duke stared into her face as she looked up into the abyss. Breaker continued as Duke kept his eyes on the painting.

"Painted in 1865, it's currently held at the Fitzwilliam. In addition to a masterpiece, the painting has a curious history." Breaker paused as Duke finally lifted his head.

"Legend has it, that right before Joan of Arc's failed seizure of Orleans, she drew a cup of blood which she shared with her most trusted knights. As the story goes, they used the remaining blood to build a clay crucifix."

"A crucifix made of Joan of Arc's blood?" Duke interrupted. Breaker nodded and continued.

"Yes, and supposedly, one of the knights kept it in his family for centuries. When John Everett Millais was commissioned for the painting, one of the knight's descendants gave him the crucifix."

"And he used it in the painting?" Duke asked.

"Yes, for the red tunic." Breaker answered, pointing at the brilliant rose-colored cloth covering Joan of Arc's legs. Duke rubbed his hand over his chin hastily.

"I called the Fitzwilliam Museum inquiring about the piece." Breaker said, following Duke's train of thought. "I posed as a Professor who was just awarded with a Full Bright. I said I was travelling to Cambridge this weekend and requested a private viewing."

"And…?" Duke replied with a look of concerned anticipation.

"And they said it was unavailable." Breaker replied. His words landed flat in the room. "The curator said it was headed to Madrid."

"Madrid?" Duke shouted in the darkened archives room. He let out a long sigh and composed himself.

"And what have you heard from our boys in Madrid?" Duke asked with the little patience he had left.

"That's why I called you here." Breaker cautiously continued. "I checked with Tripwire who is stationed there. Yesterday, he intercepted some chatter." Breaker pushed a yellow telegraph note on the table. It read, _Fallen Angel, Mars. _Duke looked at the telegraph and grimaced. Before he had a chance to speak, Breaker put another photo on the desk in front of him.

This photo was of a circular fountain in the middle of a park. In the center of the fountain was a singular marble column. At the top of the column was a bronze statue of an angel.

"El Fuente del Ángel Caído. Or, the statue of the fallen angel." Breaker stated looking up at Duke.

"This is in Madrid?" Duke asked picking up the photo. Breaker nodded quickly.

Duke stared at Breaker but did not speak. Instead, he started to pace back and forth, mumbling to himself, holding the picture. After a few moments, he paused and looked at Breaker.

"So, we know the location and we know Destro is behind it. So, are you finally going to get to why you dragged me down here?" Duke asked, knowing Breaker had still yet to make his big reveal. Breaker nodded quickly realizing Duke had run out of patience. He pointed to the telegraph again.

"I initially took this message as how it read. But then I realized that it was probably translated from Spanish to English when it was received. 'Fallen angel' translates to _Ángel Caído_, like the statue. But in Spanish, _Mars_ doesn't translate to the planet, _Mars. Mars _translates to…" Breaker said as Duke finished his sentence a final time.

"…_Martes_…Tuesday…" Duke whispered quietly.

"That's correct. Whatever is going to happen, is going to happen in Madrid this Tuesday by the statue of the Fallen Angel." Breaker said, slowly sitting in his chair, waiting for Duke's reply. He looked up and gave a short smile.

"Excellent work. I'll put Chuckles on it immediately." Duke stated, holding his hand out in front of him.

"Chuckes!" Breaker shouted, jumping out of his chair. Duke took a step back. Breaker couldn't hide his look of dejection.

"Look, Breaker, I agree with you that this is a serious matter. That is why I am giving it to Chuckles. Like I said when I came in, we're about to prep for our mission to Trucial Abysmia. What do you expect me to do? You and I are already assigned elsewhere." Duke explained.

Seemingly expecting this, Breaker scurried across the room. He picked up a small suitcase and lugged it toward Duke. As Breaker placed the case on the desk, Duke saw the letters _M.A.S.K. _printed on the front.

"Zartan's mask printer?" Duke asked, perplexed at where Breaker was going with this. Breaker smiled and popped another bubble. He took a deep breath, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box the size of a quarter. Inside, was a small translucent piece of plastic.

"This is a voice modulator. It fits on the top of a molar like a crown and can alter an individual's speech to match anything we have analyzed." Breaker took another deep breath. "We send a Steel Brigade trooper to Trucial Abysmia in my place, equipped with a mask and voice modulator, while I go to Madrid and secure the painting." He stopped and braced himself for Duke's reply.

Duke's eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped again. He tried to speak but instead all that came out was a cough and a laugh. Composing himself, he looked at Breaker, completely flabbergasted.

"You want to what?" Duke stared at Breaker as if he misheard what he had asked. "You're not trained for the combat the mission requires. Even if I said yes, you would need someone with you." Duke continued to laugh to himself as he looked at Breaker, wondering what he would say next.

Instead, Breaker said nothing. He just stared like there was something he was holding back. Suddenly, a frantic fear began to creep up inside Duke. Breaker smiled sheepishly before speaking.

"What? What else is it?" Duke asked cautiously.

"Well…that brings me to my last request…" Breaker said, popping a large bubble and exposing a wide and pleading smile.

**Chapter 2**

February 1991

Reston, Virginia  
Saturday 

MacArthur S. Ito, code name Quick Kick, sat in a small conference room on the third floor of the gray pillbox that served as the teams' auxiliary headquarters in Reston, Virginia. The room had a single hung window to his right and one behind him. The wall in front of him was covered with a poorly erased blackboard and a large tube TV resting on a rolling cart. He looked through the window down to the newly paved parking lot, scattered with sedans, and neatly manicured landscaping. The sky was covered with a thin cloud cover, leaving the frigid February morning gray and dull.

Ito ran his hand over his head to a tightly wound bun of jet-black hair. He pulled off the headphones of his Sports Walkman and hit the off button, immediately ending N.W.A.'s, _100 Miles and Runnin'_ with a click. Sitting up, Ito moved his attention to the closed case file sitting on the table. On top of the manila envelope rested a picture of Joan of Arc.

_Could it be? _Ito asked himself as he moved the picture in front of him. _Another Serpentor? _There was no warning when Cobra genetically created their first super soldier. Since then, their team had taken heavy losses because of it. Habitually, Ito pulled the keys to his chopper out of his pants pocket and began twirling a small Laker basketball keychain, falling deeper into contemplation. If they were able to stop this next super soldier from being created, they had the opportunity to save hundreds, if not thousands of lives.

The door then swung open, breaking Ito's train of thought. Breaker and Duke entered. Duke casually took the seat in front of him while Breaker eagerly plopped down to his left popping a bubble gum bubble. They sat in silence for the next few minutes save for Breaker's chewing.

Duke looked down at the case file and the picture of Joan of Arc before running a palm through his dirty blonde hair. Taking a moment to rub his hand over his mouth, he straightened out his tan shirt before speaking.

"Have you had time to read through the case file?" Duke asked Ito.

"I have." Ito replied plainly.

"Do you have any questions?" Duke said.

"No." Ito stated.

Duke shifted in his chair uncomfortably and turned his attention to Breaker. Breaker sat up popping another bubble. Excitedly, he leaned on the table closer to Ito.

"You are one of our best silent intelligence agents. I know that the stipulations of this case are strict, but having you on board would greatly increase our chances of success." Breaker smiled, popping another bubble.

Quick Kick smiled politely and nodded. He was used to not giving away any emotions. Duke gave a low cough and continued.

"As Breaker mentioned, the stipulations of this mission are_ strict_. As you are aware, you were both to be assigned to our upcoming trip to Trucial Abysmia." Duke cleared his throat again and nodded toward Breaker. "Breaker has informed me that taking you off the mission to Abysmia could tip off Cobra that we're pursuing this lead. With the delicate nature of this intelligence,_ this_ mission is a little different…" Duke trailed off.

"What do you mean, Sir?" Ito asked, not sure where Duke was going. His commanding officer seemed uncharacteristically uneasy.

Breaker got up from his seat and walked to the door and opened it. A soldier walked through and stood behind Duke. Breaker sat back down and looked at Ito who was now staring at the man in amazement.

The soldier looked identical to Breaker. His height, hairstyle, posture, even his smile was the same. Ito flinched as this second Breaker popped a bubble gum bubble and spoke.

"What's up Quick Kick? How's it hangin'?" The soldier asked.

Ito's mouth opened to reply but no sound came out. The man also sounded like Breaker. He didn't know what to do, he just looked to Duke for guidance. Instead Duke leaned back toward the now open door.

"Come on in." Duke shouted.

Ito slumped back in his chair as another soldier entered. This one looked exactly like him. The resemblance was so good, Ito felt like he might have been outside of his own body looking in. A strange dizziness started to swirl around his head. Breaker put a hand on his shoulder.

"They are from the Steel Brigade unit. Matching height and body type, equipped with masks using Zartan's tech, and new voice modulators that I created." Breaker explained.

"As I was saying before." Duke interjected. "With the delicate nature of this new intelligence, this mission is different. These two will take your places in Abysmia. We foresee Abysmia to be a routine mission, and I will be taking lead. This will ensure your covers are safe, so you can freely execute and locate this painting." Duke rose, leaning over the table and placing his index finger on the picture of Joan of Arc

"However, if for any reason, the mission in Madrid or Abysmia goes south, or any of your replacements are captured or killed, your identities will be ghosted. Your names, careers, and any connection with G.I. Joe will end. You will be forbidden to have any contact with family, friends, or colleagues. Do you understand?" Duke asked both Breaker and Quick Kick, looking back and forth between the two intently. After a moment, Ito slowly nodded.

"I understand. I'm in." Ito stated. Breaker popped another bubble before letting loose a laugh, patting Quick Kick on the back.

"Then it's off to Madrid!" Breaker shouted, pounding his fist happily on the table.

Duke remained silent, still looking at Breaker and Quick Kick.

**Chapter 3**

February 1991

Madrid, Spain  
Saturday 

Anastasia De Cobray, aka The Baroness, sat in a booth of a small café, slightly off from La Plaza Centro, away from the bustling tourists and scurrying workforce. She looked out the window past a line of gray ten-story residences. It always amazed the Baroness that even in the dead of winter, the Madrid sky could be a brilliant blue with the sun casting an everlasting glow across the metropolis.

Brushing a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, the Baroness gently grasped her espresso cup and downed the shot. She crossed her legs, exposing her young musculature from the top of her thigh down to her stiletto heels. The deep V-line of her ebony dress hung around a trio of silver necklaces, sparkling from the sunlight streaming through the window.

A short balding waiter dressed in a white pressed shirt, black bowtie and apron, hurried over and set a small plate of churros con chocolate in front of her. She nodded and smiled, raising her young cut cheekbones to the waiter as he blushed and shuffled back behind the counter. Taking one of the warm crisp churros in her hands, she dipped it in the thick chocolate and slowly twirled the pastry. Leaning over, she took a bite, closing her eyes as she chewed the soft delicate sweet.

_Indulgences. _That is what James had said the last time they were in Madrid sharing a plate. Her eyes remained closed as she thought of kissing him and digging her forehead into his neck. She breathed silently as his warmth and musk returned to her briefly. Finishing her churros in silence, the Baroness dropped a few pesetas on the table and nodded again at the proprietor as she pushed through the doors into the streets of Madrid.

In some cities, her long black leather trench coat, sharp glasses, and tall high heels would stand out. But walking with the growing fashionistas of Madrid, she blended right in. While Franco had died in 1975, the destruction from his rule, and lack of support from Spain's neutrality during World War II had caused a lengthy reconstruction. However, with the booming eighties surging on into the nineties, Spain's economy had started to rebound, which could be seen in the stylish heels, purses, sunglasses, and other accessories Madridians were wearing.

The Baroness crossed two four-lane roads and turned down a quiet street lined with trees. A group of kids ran around her, laughing and shouting. While the Baroness usually kept a thick skin, she couldn't help but smile as she thought of James and their future.

Slowing down, she stopped in front of a doorway of an eleven-story apartment building. Walking up the steps into the marble tiled vestibule, she eyed the doorman who was slumped over, reading the latest edition of the Guía de Ocio. The clacks of her heels echoed through the lobby, startling the bellhop upright, and he clumsily wiped down the front of his uniform.

"Señorita Anastasia." He said nervously. "I didn't expect you back this early. Is Señor McCullen getting your bags? I will head out immediately to assist." He stated, hurrying around the counter.

The Baroness dropped her head slightly and held up a black gloved palm. The doorman paused and slowly returned behind his post.

"I am just passing through for a few days. James is not with me, but we _do_ plan to be back for the Spring." She replied in her sharp eastern European accent. She gave a warm smile, silently excusing herself and turning to the elevator.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" He asked, raising his voice behind her but remaining in place. The Baroness turned as she pushed the button for the elevator.

"No, thank you. It is good to see you again Luís." She said, turning her back on him and waiting as the car descended.

The Baroness moved the outer iron gate to her left and opened the elevator door. Walking into the car, she pressed the button for the penthouse and leaned back as the car rose upward.

The elevator opened into a small room with one solid oaken door. On the door hung James family's crest. She grabbed a set of keys from her handbag, opened the heavy door, and walked into the penthouse apartment.

Turning on the lights, a soft yellow glow brought the room into view. The apartment opened into a parlor complete with a sapphire velvet couch, red felted seating chairs, dark mahogany walls, and a large wooden bar. Antique crystal bottles were filled with a variety of spirits.

The Baroness strolled over and filled a short glass with two fingers of Macallan 1950 and walked into the kitchen. As she took a healthy pull, she ran her left hand along the marble counter, over the butcher block, and across the front of the industrial steel stovetop. The kitchen was lit with a minka lavery chandelier. Making her way down the hallway, she stopped briefly at the bedroom.

The king-sized bed was adorned with a cream down comforter, ruby pillows, and satin sheets. Two Moroccan hanging lights dangled by each side of the bed, resting above two cedar night tables. The Baroness took a few steps into the room and turned to her right to see the stone fireplace, dark and unlit.

Memory suddenly reignited the fire, and the room was suddenly cast in a warm orange glow. She turned to the bed and saw James sleeping with her grabbing his shoulders, falling deeper into a passionate slumber. Her heart began to race as she shut her eyes and pushed the memory aside. When she opened them, the room was once again dark and cold.

Moving down the hall, the Baroness entered the library. It was a large room, with twenty-five-foot ceilings an upper balcony, and two iron spiral staircases flanking a large Palladian window which stretched the entire height of the wall. The upper portion of the window was a half-moon of stained glass. The oaken bookshelves were carved directly into the walls and displayed hundreds of texts, some dating back to the thirteenth century.

The Baroness turned on the light switch, illuminating another, much larger minka lavery chandelier, adorned with thousands of diamond and Swedish drop crystals. She on a Persian rug to a gold, empty easel.

Staring at the easel, the Baroness turned to a shelf stacked with spines of oversized books. Her fingers ran across the gold leafed binders and stopped on an aged leather volume. She pulled it out and set it on a stout reading table behind her.

The cover was decorated by hand, painstakingly recreating Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. She opened the cover to reveal a foam insert which contained a test tube, small scalpel, and a Beretta M9. Quietly, she whispered to herself.

"Soon James, we will have what we worked so hard for."

**Chapter 4**

February 1991

Madrid, Spain  
Sunday

Breaker and Quick Kick sat squished together in the back of a taxi as the small red and white stripped compact maneuvered the streets of Madrid. The driver was portly, with large cheeks that hung around the collar of his white button-down shirt. The back of his bald head was worn with age, and he casually puffed on a Fortuna cigarette, listening intently to the radio which was playing fútbol commentary about the upcoming match between Madrid Atlético and Real Madrid.

Quick Kick hunched down to look out the window at a building with architecture so ancient, it must have been over 3,000 years old. Each window had metal bars, offset by long flower beds. As the taxi sped around the corner, he saw a giant canvas billboard, celebrating the 1992 Summer Olympics, which was going to be held in Barcelona. Breaker jammed his side against Quick Kick's as he strained to get a glimpse.

"Do you think the U.S. is going to allow pro basketball stars to play?" Breaker asked.

Ito adjusted his seat, pushing Breaker back into his spot.

"I hope so. As long as they have Magic, that's all that matters." Ito replied.

"Magic? I think you mean Jordan, my man. If we have _His __Airness_, the gold is a lock." Breaker retorted quickly. Ito shot him a glare.

"His Airness? You kiddin' me? Magic is going to get his sixth ring this year." Ito stated matter of factly.

"Against the Bulls? Not gonna happen my friend." Breaker smiled, popping a piece of Dubble Bubble into his mouth.

"You just keep telling yourself that." Ito said, looking out the window again.

A molten glow had begun to expand across the city blocks as the morning churned on. The taxi sped past a series of pastry shops, filling the car with delicious aromas. The taxi driver let out a large plume of smoke, giving a cough before taking a deep breath.

Ito looked over to Breaker who had removed a small framed picture of his daughter, sitting on a picnic table by a white house, hugging him and smiling. Breaker popped a bubble and gave the photo a tender smile.

"How old is your daughter?" Ito asked.

"Seven this April." Breaker said, keeping his eyes on the picture. "I still can't believe how fast these past seven years have gone by." Breaker let out a soft sigh.

"Well, she's definitely going to be someone special with a father like yourself." Ito stated warmly. Breaker looked up not knowing what to say. "Though her taste in b-ball will be sub-par until she starts routing for Showtime." Ito joked. Breaker let out a short laugh, almost spitting out his gum.

"That'll be the day." Breaker said as the taxi driver beeped at a passing car, shouting something out the window as they sped by.

After a few more hairpin turns, the taxi stopped in front of a six-story brownstone with a faded hotel sign hanging from the doorway. Breaker pulled out a wad of pesetas and handed it to the driver as they got out and grabbed their packs out of the trunk.

"Check-in isn't for another hour or so. Let's head across the street into the park and set up our eyes." Breaker stated as he walked across the street toward a gated entrance into an expansive field scattered with trees.

Ito followed Breaker through the cast iron gates onto a path that stretched out into the park. To their right, a group of men were pacing around, smoking cigarettes, occasionally kicking the dirt. He wasn't sure exactly what they were doing, but Ito immediately got suspicious of them. He looked toward Breaker concerningly. Breaker shook his head.

"Don't worry about them. They're just hash dealers. They bury small blocks of hash in the ground and then wait to get paged for a sale." Breaker stated as they walked past.

"Why don't the police do anything about them?" Ito asked as he stared at the men.

"They do, but just not to them. Like in the U.S., the police are more concerned with the big fish. Those guys are just the minnows. Plentiful and easily replaceable. Come on, let's go." Breaker said as he picked up his pace.

They continued down the path through a cluster of trees into a small amphitheater. A few teenagers sat reading, while others were embracing, holding hands. As they moved past the theater, Beaker led them into a large circular patio looking out onto the thin clear water of a makeshift pond.

"What kind of park is this?" Ito asked.

"It's called Retiro Park, or _parque__ del __buen__retiro__, _'park of the pleasant retreat.'" Breaker said as he continued to lead Quick Kick toward the manmade pond.

"It belonged to the Spanish monarchy until the late nineteenth century. Isabella I, built a retreat on these grounds as an extension of the church. In the mid-fifteen-hundreds when King Phillip II moved the royal court to Madrid, they added many of the formal avenues and gardens. Through the next century, they included the pond, channel, and canal." Breaker explained as they walked along the water.

The path had widened out to allow for more pedestrians. Ito saw that on one side, vendors laid out rugs with cassette tapes, jewelry, paintings, sculptures, and other items for sale. As he made his way through, a small child ran past.

"Policía! Policía!" The boy shouted as he disappeared among the crowd.

Suddenly, the shop vendors grabbed their blankets, swooping up their goods before two uniformed police officers walked past, seemingly oblivious. Ito looked at Breaker questioningly.

"It's illegal for the vendors to sell their goods here, but as you can see, the law remains loose. Every now and then, the police round them up, but they usually let them conduct business as long as it's not too much distraction." Breaker said as they walked deeper into the park.

Groups of kids kicked soccer balls around while others lay on the grass reading or daydreaming. Even though it was February, the temperature stayed in the mid-forties, with the sun giving off warmth. People were bundled up, but that didn't stop them from enjoying the nature around them.

Breaker began to slow as the path led around a large circular fountain. Tall light posts lined the path with a pastry stand sitting on the grass nearby. Breaker headed toward one of the light posts, staring up at the lamp. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what looked like a small metal button about the size of a nickel. He looked at Ito and began to whisper.

"This is the smallest surveillance camera I've created so far. It's light, weatherproof, and powered by solar energy." He said, popping a bubble and winking at Quick Kick. "It's also magnetic." Breaker tossed the camera up toward the top of the light post. As it got close to the post, it quickly attached itself to the pole.

"I'm going to place these around the fountain. Keep an eye out will you?" Breaker asked as he moved to the next light.

Ito nodded and watched as Breaker moved to the next light surrounding the fountain. Looking up at the statue, Ito stared at the tall marble pillar in the middle of the sculpture. At the base were small sculptures of what looked like reptiles and gargoyles, each carved with demonic grins, burrowing into the rock, clawing and crying at the same time.

Following the marble pillar to the top, there was a sculpture of an angel being pulled down by demons, grabbing at his arms and wings. The face on the angel was a mixture of surprise, agony, and self-acknowledgement. Ito's gaze dropped as Breaker walked beside him.

"_Ángel Caído_, or the 'Fallen Angel,' the only public monument to the devil himself." Breaker explained. "It stands 666 meters above sea level and depicts Lucifer at the moment he is cast out of heaven; according to Milton's _Paradise Lost_. The sculptor, Ricardo Beller, unveiled it at the third World's Fair in Paris. It was later acquired by the Prado Museum and then installed here in 1885."

"It's odd." Ito said, staring up at the top of the sculpture.

"You can say that again. Beller was renowned for his discordant subject matter. Anyway, we should check-in the hotel so I can configure the feed from those cameras." Breaker stated.

Ito nodded and started to follow Breaker back the way they came. He stopped briefly to take one more look at the statue. As he turned to leave, he saw a teenager with a green spiked mohawk at least half-a-foot tall. The teenager wore a sleeveless black leather jacket with hundreds of safety pins and large patches displaying band names like Fugazi and Bad Religion. His arms were covered with various tattoos and he sported ripped blue jeans and a pair of purple Doc Martens. Ito stared as the punk brushed past his shoulder, neither turning around or moving his gaze or direction. He scoffed as Breaker walked back and gave him a pat on the back.

"They come in all shapes and sizes nowadays don't they?" Breaker said. "Come on, let's get set up so we can get something to eat. I'm starving."

Ito turned and walked back with Breaker who popped bubbles and continued to share historical tidbits of everything he could see, hear, and smell.

**Chapter 5**

Tipón, the green mohawk tattooed punk, continued down the path, exiting Retiro Park and ducking down the steps into the metro station. He walked quickly down the multiple stories of escalators hopping on the last car of a long train. Grabbing his Walkman, he flipped over his Fugazi tape and clicked the play button, letting the raw unabashed cords drown out the conversations around him.

When the subway reached La Latina, he got off and ascended another series of escalators until he was out into the streets of Madrid. Heading south, Tipón worked his way down to El Rastro, the largest flea market in Spain, consisting of over 3,500 stalls.

The name _El Rastro, _or 'The Trail,' referred to the bloody path created by butchers who carried their slaughtered cattle to the northern tanneries. The word also refered to the fact that the area was outside the jurisdiction of the mayor's court, and was the epicenter of multiple cultures and ethnicities trading among each other.

Vendor tables lined both sides of the street selling everything from music, art, pots and pans, shoes, clothing, books, and toys. Anything that one could imagine could be found at El Rastro. At ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, the flea market was seething with locals and tourists, strolling in and out of the stalls, bartering, and perusing items for sale.

Tipón worked his way through the moving throng of foot traffic down to a stall that sold a variety of knick-knacks. Rows of small wooden busts of Don Quixote lined the table next to dozens of bronze sculptures of the Madrid bear, leaning against a tree. Tipón moved down the table until he faced a line of golden statues of Joan of Arc, clasping her hands to her heart, looking up toward the heavens.

Picking one up, Tipón admired the statue before putting it down. He then picked up another, looking at it intently as the owner noticed and walked over. Sizing Tipón up, the vendor scoffed at his green mohawk and tattoos.

"They are all the same,_ joven_. Fifty pesetas. Please buy it or move along please." The owner stated with as much courage as he could muster.

Tipón put the statue down and stood straight. The proprietor, who was short, thin, and balding, took a step back, hesitating at Tipón's confidence and silence. Being overwhelmed with nervousness, the owner spoke again curtly, trying his best to encourage the punk to move to a different booth. Tipón just grabbed another statue of Joan of Arc, and continued to inspect it.

"It's for my grandmother. For her birthday. She is _extremely_ particular." Tipón stated.

These were his instructions, to come to this booth and ask for a Joan of Arc statue for his grandmother's birthday. The owner took another step back but did not speak. His eyes sharpened as he tucked his shirt tight under his belt. Suddenly, he smiled and laughed, clapping his hands together, his attitude changed completely.

"Well then joven, if it is for your abuela, you will need the best." The owner said, ducking under the table, searching through various boxes. When he emerged, he held a statue of Joan of Arc that looked exactly like the others. "Here. I believe _this_ is the one you are looking for." The owner stated, handing the statue to Tipón.

Tipón took the statue, nodding at the owner as he turned it over. On the bottom was an engraving of a knife pointing downward behind a solid mask. It was the symbol of Destro and Mars Industries. Tipón gave the owner a cocky wink and put the statue in his jacket pocket as he headed back to the Metro.

Stopping at a telephone booth before the subway entrance, Tipón dropped a few small golden pesetas in the slot, dialed a number, and listened to long beeps, waiting for the line to connect. After a few rings, the phone picked up.

"Bueno?" Came from a rough voice on the other end of the line.

"Julio? It's me, Tipón. I got the statue." Tipón said as he grasped his hand around the statue in his jacket pocket.

"Olé, tío. You coming over now?" Julio asked.

"Yes. Just getting on the Metro. Should be there in twenty minutes. Is Eva there yet?" Tipón asked.

"Not yet, but she called just before you did. She should be here when you arrive, or shortly after." Julio replied from the other end of the line.

"Vale. See you in twenty." Tipón stated as he hung up and headed down the stairs of the Metro station.

After a fifteen-minute ride, he exited out into the city streets facing a string of five-story apartment buildings. The morning was almost over and the sun was reaching its peak, casting a yellow hue across the building's facade. Tipón jogged across a three-lane highway, until he reached the door of one of the apartment buildings. Pressing a button on the intercom, he waited for a reply.

"Oyé?" Came over the receiver.

"Julio? It's Tipón." Tipón stated as the door buzzed and he pushed through.

Bypassing the elevator, Tipón raced up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the fifth floor. Walking swiftly to the end of the hall, he knocked on Julio's door. Waiting for a few moments, Tipón turned the nob and found the door open. Slowly, he let himself in.

Julio's apartment opened into a living room with two couches running along each adjacent wall and a large TV by the far end of the room. Tipón took a step back as he entered, seeing the couch cushions tossed all over, and a few chairs knocked on their sides. Slowly moving into the room, Julio emerged, making Tipón jump.

"Joder!" Tipón shouted angerly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry tío." Julio said. "I didn't hear you come in."

"What happened here? Did you get into a fight?" Tipón asked, nodding to the furniture knocked around the room.

"Oh, just a rough night. Hitting the calimocho pretty hard." Julio laughed as he straightened out the cushions on the couch and sat down.

Julio had his brown hair slicked back under a red bandana. Like Tipón, he wore a sleeveless leather jacket with multiple patches and safety pins. Julio also had a pair of blue jeans but preferred combat boots to Tipón's Doc Martens. Slinking into the couch, Julio grabbed the coffee table and dragged it closer to him. He then laid out a cube of hash and rolling papers as he started breaking apart a cigarette.

"Want to smoke?" Julio asked, as he lit his lighter and applied the flame to a piece of hash. Crumbling some into the palm of his hand, he mixed the hash with the tobacco and started rolling it into a joint.

"Sure, I could use it." Tipón stated, sitting down next to Julio and removing the statue of Joan of Arc.

"Is that what you picked up?" Julio asked as he lit the joint, taking a long pull.

"That's it." Tipón replied, taking the joint from Julio. "Easiest money I ever made."

"And you just need to give it to someone at Retiro on Tuesday?" Julio said.

"Yes. At eleven by the statue of Lucifer. After that, I'm done." Tipón replied, handing the joint back to Julio.

"Sounds too good to be true if you ask me." Julio said, taking another drag and standing up. "You want a beer?" Julio asked, passing the joint back to Tipón.

"Sure. Eva hasn't gotten here yet?" Tipón asked. Julio shook his head.

"No, not yet. She should be here soon though." Julio replied as he walked out of the room taking a sharp right into the kitchen.

Tipón took another pull of the joint, looking at a Black Flag poster hanging on Julio's wall. He heard Julio popping a couple beers and got up walked to the kitchen, poking his head in the doorway.

"I'm just going to take a piss." Tipón said as Julio nodded, tipping the beer back, taking a long sip.

Tipón continued down the hall to the next door on his right. Turning the nob, the door barley moved. He pushed harder, but it seemed like something was blocking the door on the other side.

"Is something wrong with your bathroom door?" He asked Julio down the hall as he pushed again, this time leaning in with his shoulder. Putting his weight on it, the door slowly slid open.

Tipón stopped as he looked at the floor. On the tile was a large red streak. It was wide, almost the width of the door. Gulping the saliva building in his throat, Tipón held the side of the door with one hand as he walked around into the bathroom.

His mouth dropped and he let out a short gasp. Lying on the floor was his girlfriend Eva, her head completely twisted around, staring at him with her eyes wide, shocked and frozen. His lips started to sputter as he staggered backward.

Then, his eyes focused behind Eva, at another body. However, this one was more perplexing. Falling back on the toilet seat, Tipón stared at his friend Julio. Like Eva, Julio was sprawled out, his mouth contorted into an unnatural smile above his slit throat. Tipón stared into his listless eyes, immobilized by confusion. _If Julio's body was here, then who answered the door, _Tipón thought to himself frantically.

As Tipón rose to his feet, he was quickly knocked down by an incredible force. Placing his hands on the floor, he tried to stand himself up, but for some reason, his legs wouldn't respond. He spoke, but his breath just seemed to cave in on itself as he felt a growing weight coming from his chest. Looking down, he was perplexed by what he saw. The hilt of a large wooden knife was protruding out of his sternum. Reaching up, he touched the hilt, dizzyingly verifying it was real. A cold wetness started to soak his shirt as his mouth opened and closed silently. He slunk further down in the corner of the bathroom.

The man he thought was Julio walked into the bathroom and stared down at him, smiling. Tipón's world started to get fuzzy and the man reached up and started pulling on the top of his head. As his hair pulled upward, the man's eye sockets stretched, like he was tearing off his own skin. Tipón tried to scream, but all that came out was a wet sputtering. Right before everything went black, he realized the man was wearing a mask, and that there would be no Retiro on Tuesday, no payday, nothing.

Zartan, one of Cobra Commander's top lieutenants, stood in the bathroom smirking as Tipón exhaled his last breaths. Walking back into the kitchen, Zartan grabbed a large black case. Carrying the case back into the bathroom, he sat down on the toilet next to Tipón. He then opened the case, revealing a M.A.S.K. scanner and printer. Working delicately, he scanned Tipón's face and waited for the printer to begin processing. He looked over Tipón, taking into account his green mohawk, tattoos and clothes. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small flip phone. Dialing, Zartan waited for the line to pick up on the other end. After a few rings, he heard a click.

"I'm in place for the exchange on Tuesday." Zartan stated. "Then, we'll get to the bottom of what Destro is up to and what he is hiding from us." He flipped the phone closed, taking another long pull from his beer.

**Chapter 6**

February 1991

Madrid, Spain  
Tuesday (_Martes_) 

Ito sat on a bench under a tree approximately fifty yards from the statue of the fallen angel. He had been sitting for the past hour, surveilling the fountain, looking for any sign of a meeting or a possible drop. Even during the mid-morning, the park was full of college students, dressed businessmen and other residents, bundled up and walking by.

It was another clear day with no sign of clouds, just endless blue and the sun, casting a deep orange across the trees and paths. Removing a hand from his brown leather jacket, Ito tapped the small earpiece lodged in his right ear. A static voice started to speak.

"_Do you see anyone suspicious?" _Breaker asked through the earpiece.

"No. Nothing so far." Ito said.

"_Let me run a visual scan then. In the bottom of the communications box I gave you is a small contact lens. Put it on." _Breaker stated.

Ito reached into his pocket and removed a small leather case. He opened it to reveal a second earpiece and an empty space for the one he was wearing. He pressed on the inside of the box, and the top foam casing popped up. Removing the foam, Ito saw a single circular metal tin, no larger than a nickel.

"_Inside is a new eyepiece I've been working on. When you put the contact lens on, I can connect to our entire database and surveillance tech, giving you unlimited access to our resources." _Breaker continued as Ito popped open the case to reveal the lens. Looking around to verify no one was paying attention to him, he casually placed the lens in his eye.

"Ok, it's in." He said over his comm unit.

"_Awesome. Give me a second to get it synched. The lens will omit a few screens at once so don't freak out when it starts to load." _Breaker warned.

A flash came and faded from the lens and a small screen appeared in his vision. Lines of code streamed as the lens began scanning Ito's surroundings. Digital outlines highlighted the nearby trees and lampposts. When the scan reached a person in the park, another screen appeared. In a few seconds, the name and address of the individual came up.

"This is amazing." Ito whispered as he continued to scan others in the park.

"_Thank you. You're wearing the prototype. I'm hoping it will help transform comm units for the team." _Breaker replied over the earpiece popping a bubble.

"You'll get no argument from me." Ito said as he scanned a red squirrel. A series of information about its genus, average life span, diet, and other information appeared. Ito then focused his attention toward the fountain, reviewing everyone who walked by.

A group of businessmen strolled past. However, one remained and sat down on the edge of the fountain. He was about five-and-a-half feet tall with a small beer belly. The sun gleamed off his balding head showing a few beads of glistening sweat. The man pulled a handkerchief out from his lapel and dabbed the top of his head. Ito stared at him as the lens in his eye started the scan.

"A little brisk to be sweating so much, don't you think?" Ito observed.

"_He does have quite the belly. Maybe he's just out of breath, or shape, or both." _Breaker said.

The scan completed, identifying the man as Sergio Matalón, a loan officer for Caja Madrid. Unmarried, thirty-eight, lived with his mother near Cuatro Caminos.

"_Based on the scan, he seems like just another resident."_ Breaker surmised.

"Maybe." Ito replied as he started to scan another person.

Then, Ito saw the punk with the spiked green mohawk. The kid was walking toward the fountain from the west wearing a small backpack. He strode forcefully with long strides, his purple boots trudging along the gravel path. The scan revealed the punk to be Tipón Hernandez, nineteen years old, no occupation, lived with his grandmother just north of Retiro Park. Ito panned back toward the businessman sitting by the fountain. The man just looked down at his shoes, giving no heed to anyone walking by.

"_Isn't that the kid we saw walking past the statue Sunday?" _Breaker asked.

"It is." Ito said, getting up from the bench and slowly walking closer to the statue.

"_Easy. It says he and his grandmother live close to the park. He might walk by here every day." _Breaker said.

"Still. I'm going to get a closer look." Ito said as he continued to make his way to the fountain. He maneuvered down a path around a line of trees to a bench that sat behind a vendor selling coffee.

Instead of walking by, the punk slowed and took a seat next to the businessman. The man looked up, nodding at the punk before looking back down at his shoes. Slowly, the punk removed his backpack and took out a bag of chips. He opened them and offered the bag to the businessman. Looking up, the man seemed a little startled, but then smiled and took a chip, thanking the boy.

The punk put the bag of chips down and went back into his bag, this time removing a small golden statue and placing it between him and the man. Ito stared at the mini statue and his eyepiece immediately zoomed in, enlarging it on the screen.

"_That's a statue of Joan of Arc." _Breaker said excitedly in Ito's earpiece as he popped another bubble gum bubble.

"It is. But something's off." Ito stated, shifting on the bench. The coffee vendor had moved in front of him disrupting his line of sight.

The businessman looked down at the statue and his shoulders seemed to tense up. He gave the punk a short nod, taking the statue. The man then reached down and grabbed his briefcase, setting it on his lap and clicked it open. Pulling out an envelope, the man handed it to the punk. The businessman then put the statue in his briefcase, snapped it shut, and got up from his seat.

"Something's not right here." Ito repeated.

"_Definitely. Looks like this is the drop. Keep clear until the suit heads off. That's who you want to follow." _Breaker stated quickly.

"No, I mean there's something else that's off." Ito replied.

Just then, as the businessman started in the other direction, he started coughing. Grabbing his handkerchief, he covered his mouth as his coughs intensified. Spinning around, his eyes were wide, blood shot, and screaming for help. The handkerchief fell to the ground as the man grasped both of his palms over his mouth.

Falling to his knees, he coughed violently, this time blood shooting out between his fingers. The punk got up and ran over to him, crouching to the ground. A group of kids playing soccer stopped and started to jog over. Two older women screamed as the man's body writhed on the gravel path, blood now streaming out of his eyes and nose. After a few more spasms, the man stopped moving.

A woman let out another scream as the group of bystanders started to rush over. Ito saw the punk yell for someone to call for a doctor as he slowly stood up, picking up the man's briefcase. As the crowd around the businessman intensified, the punk casually backtracked, turned around, and started walking away.

"_Don't let him out of your sight." _Breaker stated as Ito got up and watched the punk head off.

"Something's still not right." Ito said once more.

"_You can say that again. That was some crazy stuff." _Breaker agreed.

"No. I mean, yes, that was crazy. But the punk. Something is off about him. Something is different." Ito said as he continued to track the punk walking down a path out of the park, keeping a safe distance.

The kid had obviously poisoned the businessman with the bag of chips, but there was something else. Something past the obvious. Ito glanced again at the readout coming from his eyepiece stating the punks name and where he lived. Heading for one of the gated exits, the punk ducked under a low hanging tree branch, the top of his mohawk brushing against the leaves. Then, it hit Ito full on as he started to pick up his pace.

"I've got it. The punk. He's about half a foot taller than the last time we saw him." Ito said, trying not to give up his position.

"_What?" _Breaker asked, sounding surprised.

"The punk. He is taller. That tree. The readout from my eyepiece says the branch he walked under is six and a half feet tall. But the kid is less than six feet. How could he have grown taller in a couple of days?" Ito stated continuing to follow the boy.

"_So, if he isn't the kid, who is he?" _Breaker asked.

Ito took a few more steps before he figured it out as the punk walked out of the park and started crossing the road.

"He's Zartan." Ito said as he started following the punk with an alarming intensity.

**Chapter 7**

"_Zartan? Why do you think it's Zartan?" _Breaker asked.

"It all makes sense. It appears like us, Cobra is trying to figure out Destro's plans. They send in Zartan, who infiltrates and replaces the drop man so he can get closer to the source." Ito said as he jogged out the park down an alleyway.

"_Then why didn't the scan pick him up? We have Zartan's tech, it would have registered." _Breaker stated through the static.

"What if the tech was upgraded?" Ito said as he exited the alleyway onto a main road.

The punk was about twenty yards ahead, weaving through a group of Señoras who were on their way to mass. Ito dodged behind a tree as the punk turned around. Lighting a cigarette, the punk slowly continued walking. Ito waited a few seconds before continuing his pursuit.

"_Do you think he made you?" _Breaker asked.

"No. But he definitely looks like he's paranoid about_ someone_ following him." Ito stated, crossing the two-lane road behind a pair of speeding motorbikes.

The punk continued for four blocks before ducking down a stairwell into a local tappas bar. Reaching the entrance, Ito stared at the neon Águila sign hanging above the bar. The tavern door opened below, and a large man appeared, tossing a cigarette off the wall and lighting another as he trudged up the steps.

"_If you go in, you're taking a huge risk of blowing this op if he recognizes you. You could be walking into a trap." _Breaker said, popping another bubble.

Ito stood pondering his dilemma. It was true, if he walked down and Zartan was waiting for him, everything was over. But Ito was confident Zartan had no idea of their involvement.

"I don't think so." Ito replied. "Think about it. The only reason Zartan is here is to learn more about Destro's plan, right? I doubt he even knows we're here. Remember our doubles are in play in Abysmia right? We have the upper hand, I know it." Ito stated confidently.

"_So why do you think Zartan went into the bar?" _Breaker asked.

"To change into his new disguise. After poisoning the businessman, he took the statue and the briefcase, right?" Ito asked, pacing on the street above the bar entrance.

"_Right."_ Breaker replied.

"So, the next step for Zartan is to take the place of the businessman to figure out Destro's plans." Ito stated deciding to walk down the stairs to the bar.

"_I believe you. But why can't you just wait across the street until Zartan emerges?" _Breaker asked, a little frantic as he saw Ito push his way through the tavern door.

"Because I'm hungry." Ito said as he entered the tappas bar.

The staircase emptied out into the main dining area with six square wood-laminated tables laid out neatly. The bar ran down the left side of the tavern with a series of taps and rows of spirits stacked behind. A glass food display ran down the entire length of the bar, full of tappas of all shapes and sizes.

Ito sat himself nestled between two heavyset men, both dressed in pin stripped suits. It was a tight fit but provided more than enough cover. Looking around the bar, Zartan was nowhere to be found. A few patrons sat at the tables over short glasses of spirits and small plates of food, and a group of four men, dressed to the nines, were in the back-right corner playing an intense game of foosball. However, none resembled the punk, or the businessman who just died in the park. Ito followed the red brick interior over framed pictures of Madrid during the civil war until he saw a pair double doors that led to the bathrooms.

"_Do you think he is in the bathroom changing?" _Breaker asked.

"That's what I am thinking." Ito replied. "In a few minutes, I bet he will come out. Then, we can follow him to the next drop." Ito stated as a short thin bartender came to greet him. He was in his fifties and wore a white shirt with a black tie and a severe comb over.

"What would you like?" The bartender asked.

"Águila." Ito replied, turning his attention to the tappas. There was a line of food including Spanish omelette, croquettes, calamari la romana, gambas al ajillo, patatas bravas, pulpo Gallego, boquerones, sautéed mushrooms, and mejillones rellenos. A warm saliva started to lather in the back of his mouth.

"I'll take a plate of croquettes and calamari." Ito ordered as the bartender nodded, placing a frosty glass of pilsner in front of him and grabbing a couple of plates.

"_When in Rome…" _Breaker said chidingly over the earpiece.

"…do like the Romans." Ito finished the sentence, smiling as the bartender placed two small plates in front of him. Ito grabbed one of the flakey croquettes and popped it in his mouth, savoring the gooey cheese as it melted down his throat. Taking a healthy pull of his beer, he forked a few calamari and stuffed them in his mouth.

"_Do you think you can get anything to go?" _Breaker asked.

Ito chuckled as he finished his small plates and short beer, constantly looking toward the bathroom for any sign of Zartan. Then, the double doors at the back end of the bar swung wide.

The businessman who was just vomiting blood in Retiro Park walked out, smiling at the group of men playing foosball. His slick bald head gleamed from the overhead lights and his lavender handkerchief was tucked neatly in his lapel. He held the briefcase in his right hand. Ito hunched behind the massive shoulders of the man sitting next to him as Zartan confidently strolled through the bar toward the exit.

Ito waited till Zartan had reached the staircase before dropping a handful of pesetas on the bar and getting up. Racing up the stairs, he got to the top just as Zartan ducked into a cab. Letting out a sharp whistle, Ito hailed the next taxi and got in, telling the driver to follow the cab that just sped off.

The taxi driver scoffed turning around, exposing a large hairy forearm. Before he could say anything, Ito whipped out a roll of 5,000 peseta notes cocking his eyebrows. The cabbie snatched the wad from Ito's hands, put the car in gear, and sped to catch up to wherever Zartan was headed.

**Chapter 8  
**

Zartan exited the taxi just past the Gate of Europa Plaza by a three-story flamboyant granite masterpiece that resembled a palace. The late gothic structure was complete with dramatic gables and peaked towers, gargoyles, and a carved crest in the center of its arched entrance. The building was currently home to one of the first branches of Caja Madrid, a savings bank founded in the early seventeen hundreds.

When Zartan opened the small statue of Joan of Arc, he found a card with the bank's address, and a small marble marker that resembled a domino. On one side of the domino was a carving that looked like Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. On the other side, was a bar code and a series of numbers.

Rubbing the marker in his pocket, Zartan walked up the polished steps itching the side of his neck and adjusting his mask. Some of his skins itched, some didn't. _This one itched_, Zartan thought to himself as he entered the interior of the financial institution. The walls stretched high across the arched ceiling. Large three-tiered chandeliers hung above two rows of mahogany Edwardian desks. Even though a healthy stream of natural light came through the windows, each desk was lit with a dim green shaded bankers' lamp.

Zartan's wingtips clacked lightly along the marble as he took a seat in one of the cushioned hand carved chairs facing the first desk to his right. A tall thin banker dressed in a charcoal gray suit eagerly walked to his desk after noticing Zartan sit down. He wore a young brown beard and cut his hair neat and short. A pair of thin octagonal glasses rested on his bony nose.

"And what can I help you with today?" The young banker asked warmly.

Zartan smiled through his mask and reached into his pocket. Delicately, he placed the small marble marker on the desk with the bar code facing up. He looked up at the banker as he leaned back in his chair crossing his arms.

"I am here to make a withdrawal." Zartan stated smoothly in a perfect Spanish accent.

As soon as the banker saw the marble marker his manner changed. His posture went rigid before turning into a nervous mess. Bumbling, he reached for the marker, dropping it on the desk before grabbing it tightly. He stood up, knocking his chair back so it let out a screech on the tile floor. The banker bowed apologetically to his colleagues sitting at other desks and maneuvered around to Zartan.

"Sorry for any inconvenience you might have had waiting, Señor. We usually have appointments set up for these types of transactions. My apologies. Can I ask who you contacted here at the bank so I can make sure this never happens again?" The young banker asked sheepishly, wiping a fast forming sweat from his upper lip.

"If I could just deal with the matter at hand, that would be my preference, thank you." Zartan stated cool and dry.

"Of course…" The banker said, his body inverting as if he was scolded. "…please…if you will just follow me." He stammered, wiping down the front of his suit, trying to regain any sense of conmposure. Zartan just smiled slowly and stood up.

"Thank you. Most appreciated." Zartan replied coyly, gesturing for the banker to lead the way.

Nodding quickly, the banker turned and guided Zartan past the large mahogany desks back to the antique teller booths. Well-kept tellers sat behind solid black bars, counting money and handing out withdrawals through the cash slots. A line of customers waited patiently behind red velvet ropes.

They walked past into a short hallway decorated with pictures of former bank presidents, each sitting with their hands crossed over a knee, staring forward defiantly. The young banker led Zartan to a large gated door, which looked like an old western jail cell. Instead of an old-fashioned lock however, resided a digital keypad. The banker typed in a code, prompting a buzzing noise before the gate popped open. Grabbing an iron bar, the banker pushed it wide, smiling at Zartan and gesturing him to enter.

"Welcome back to our Executive Vault, Señor. Viewing room three is available for you now. I will be back in a few minutes. Please. Make yourself at home." The banker said before giving a short bow and hustling off with a breath of relief.

Zartan looked to his right to see a large wooden door slightly ajar. Walking through, he entered into medium sized room with two large windows at the far end, covered by a light linen shade. Four torchiere lamps glowed in each corner of the room. A large oaken desk sat by the right-side wall next to a pair of cushioned, hand-carved chairs. To his left was a vintage walnut liquor cabinet. The cabinet stood five feet high, with two flaps on each side that extended into a small bar top. Below the bar was a glass cabinet full of crystal decanters.

Opening the cabinet, Zartan removed a decanter with a healthy amount of carmel colored liquid. Popping off the top, Zartan sniffed a deep waft of cedar and sandalwood. Smiling widely, he poured two fingers into a wide snifter and took a seat by the desk. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes, letting the warm liquid sooth his throat.

"Not a bad assignment if I do say so." He said softly to himself as he circled the glass under his nose.

_The little he knew, the better the gig_, he thought as he took another sip. His Commander told him nothing other than providing him with a photo of Tipón and his address. For a week, he had followed the boy, learning his habits, his friends, his hangouts. In fact, it was pretty straightforward as far as Zartan was concerned. He could care less about what his boss was after, but figured it had to do with weapons or something financial. When the address in the statue led him to the bank, he wasn't surprised.

He took a larger sip of cognac when the young banker re-emerged carrying a metal tube. Carefully placing the tube on the desk, he bowed again at Zartan, and nodded toward the antique rotary phone on the table.

"Take as long as you need Señor. When you are done, my extension is five. I will come when you are ready. Thank you again for choosing Caja Madrid." With another formal bow, the banker backed out and shut the door.

Placing the snifter on the desk, Zartan picked up the metal tube and examined it end-to-end. Carefully, he screwed off the top and slowly removed the contents. Unrolling it out on the desk, he looked down, perplexed. Staring up at him was the canvas painting of Joan of Arc, by John Everett Millais.

Zartan took another long sip, finishing his drink. Ignoring the sensation from the alcohol, he ran his palm gently over the painting. He then turned it over and inspected it further. Confused, he grabbed the tube, shaking it to see if anything else was inside. A small business card fell lightly on the desk.

Picking it up, Zartan saw a printed address located in Madrid. It also had the day's date and the time of three o'clock. Checking his watch, it was a little after noon. Three hours till the next drop. Turning his attention back to the painting, Zartan stared, unsure of himself.

"It's just a painting." He said aloud.

He was expecting a case of money, or gold, some technology, or even a weapon. That would make sense as to why his Commander gave him this mission. Sure, the painting looked like it could be valuable, but someone else could have come to intercept the purchase. Even a civilian could have done it. It just didn't make sense to him. What could be so important about a painting?

Regardless, his mission was his mission, and in less than three hours, he would know more. Rolling up the painting, he placed it back in the tube and put the card in his pocket. Then, he picked up the receiver and dialed five, alerting the jittery banker he was ready to leave.

Exiting the bank, Zartan ran down the marble stairs, hailing the first taxi he saw. As he reached the curb, another cab screeched in front, skidding to a stop. Zartan jumped back as the driver who was cut off stepped out of his car, hurling a string of obscenities. The other cabbie returned with another slew of insults, naming specific saints and bodily functions before telling at Zartan to get in.

Without time to think or argue, Zartan opened the door and hopped inside. He quickly gave the address to the driver and sat back. Before putting the car in gear, the cabbie turned to face him, and popped a huge bubble gum bubble with a smile.

"Sure thing bud. Fancy seeing you in these parts." Breaker stated, giving Zartan a wink.

Immediately recognizing Breaker, Zartan opened his mouth to shout, his right hand reaching into his jacket for his pistol. Then, the back-passenger side door wrenched opened and Quick Kick jumped in, giving Zartan a short elbow to the gut before a fist to the lower jaw. Zartan buckled back in his seat coughing, trying to recover as Quick Kick plunged a syringe into his right bicep.

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride old pal." Breaker said, popping another bubble and turning up the volume of a flamenco station.

Zartan tried to sit up, but his body fell deeper into the seat. He shouted at his assailants, but his voice seemed muffled and distant. Soon, his eyelids were just too heavy to keep open.

**Chapter 9**

The safe house was a small one-bedroom apartment Breaker had rented, overlooking a large apartment high rise. Primarily used for students, the furniture was sparse, consisting of the bare essentials in each room, with dim lighting and some cracks in the wall. Zartan sat, hands bound to the arms of a wooden chair, hunched over and unconscious. A small puddle of drool grew between his feet as he drew heavy breaths.

Breaker had prepared an easel by the front window, which was now displaying Millais's Joan of Arc. Quick Kick was standing, arms folded, admiring the painting as Breaker unrolled a long leather pouch on the table. Reaching inside, Breaker removed a few small tools used for sculpting. Walking over to the painting, he crouched down, meticulously scraping a small portion of Joan's red tunic into a small plastic test tube.

"What are you doing?" Ito asked, watching Breaker intently.

"Just grabbing a small sample to analyze." He replied as he rose, capping the tube and putting back the instruments.

"It's truly magnificent." Ito stated, turning back to the painting.

"I agree. It captures so much of her legend in a single instance." Breaker said, finding himself getting lost in Joan's expression.

Zartan moaned in slumber, making the chair creak on the hard wood floor. Both Joes watched as his back moved gently in synch with his breathing. His healthy brown hair dangled down in sweated mats. They had removed his mask and suit and he was just in an undershirt and pants, his chiseled biceps twitching from time to time.

"How much do you think he knows?" Ito asked.

"Based on his actions, I would say he knows less than we do." Breaker replied, walking behind Zartan to a backpack under the table. "Let's wake him up and find out."

Pulling out a leather case, Breaker unzipped it to reveal a syringe and two vials of clear liquid. Filling the syringe with one of the small bottles, he walked over and plunged it into Zartan's right forearm. Zartan coughed before slowly raising his head. His face was tanned, and his powerful jawline grew into a large grin. He had high tight cheekbones with a light discoloring under his eyes.

Rumors had it that Zartan didn't need masks for his disguises. He supposedly had a genetic imbalance enhanced by Cobra technology that could alter his appearance. However, the changes apparently took a severe toll on him which is why he still kept to his traditional methods.

"So many familiar faces…" Zartan whispered to Quick Kick and Breaker in his Australian accent. "…and here in Madrid no less."

Breaker held out the second vial in front of Zartan.

"Sodium pentathol. You'll soon be telling us everything you know." Breaker stated happily.

"Fools." Zartan spat with a laugh. "You don't need that if you want me to tell the truth. I have taken oaths that prevent me from lying. Depending on who those truth's benefit of course."

"So, this mission is no longer a benefit to you?" Ito shot back.

"It is apparently out of my hands now." Zartan replied sarcastically, gesturing down to his bindings.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Ito asked Zartan rhetorically. "I think you have no idea why you're here. I bet you were surprised to find the painting weren't you?

Zartan remained silent, turning his attention to the painting. He stared at it emotionlessly.

"Do you even know what it is?" Ito asked, searching Zartan's eyes.

Zartan looked up at Quick Kick and smiled.

"You know what I'm thinking? I'm wondering how, with all your muscle, you think you can still use your brain?" Zartan replied, leaning back, continuing to smile.

"Joke however you want." Breaker interrupted, stepping between Ito and Zartan. "Quick Kick is right. You know nothing. So, guess what? We're shipping you stateside. There, you can count the days until Cobra feels you're a worthy bargaining chip."

Breaker walked over to the table and opened a leather briefcase. Inside was a digital recorder and a small metal box. Opening the box, Breaker revealed a small plastic piece in the shape of a tooth.

"This is a new voice modulator I have been perfecting. It fits like a cap on someone's tooth and can imitate anyone's voice based on previous recordings. Using the communications equipment I set up around the fountain, I was able to record the businessman's voice before you killed him. It was a short conversation, but it still provided ample data to configure this device." Breaker stated, popping a bubble gum bubble and tossing the box to Quick Kick before walking next to Zartan and grabbing his mask and suit.

"With the voice modulator, and this perfect disguise you've most graciously provided us, Quick Kick here will be taking your place to bring the painting to its next destination. So, whatever else you have to say, save it, because you're no benefit to us anymore." Breaker concluded, crossing his arms over his chest, blowing and popping another bubble.

**Chapter 10**

Ito looked down at the small business card and then up to the front door of the apartment building. The light from the sun was shining brightly down on the doorway as he pushed his way through. A few yards to his left was the doorman, dressed in an olive suit, his hair neatly combed down a left part.

Handing him the card, Ito secured his grip of the metal tube under his arm. The doorman looked him over, giving a nod and a smile. He handed the card back to Ito.

"Top floor. The Señorita has been expecting you." He said, before gesturing to the antique elevator.

Quick Kick thanked the man and walked in the elevator, swinging the gate shut before it started to rise.

"_Does the mask itch?" _Breaker asked through Ito's earpiece.

"Surprisingly no." Ito replied as the elevator continued to ascend. Catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the elevator siding, Ito flinched, not recognizing the bald middle-aged Spaniard looking back at him.

"_You'll need to be on alert for anything suspicious. We have no idea who will be up there. Hopefully just couriers, but you never know." _Breaker stated.

Quick Kick looked himself over in the reflection of the elevator, adjusting his tie and wiping down his suit jacket.

"_You look fine. Just remember, to pull this off, you'll need to be in character. Your only concern should be the painting and its safe handling. If you stray from that, you'll leave yourself vulnerable." _Breaker relayed over Ito's earpiece. "_I will be watching and listening from your eye and earpieces and will be running scans letting you know if anything is out of the ordinary._

Quick Kick nodded at his reflection and put his right hand inside his jacket. His fingers gently caressed the steel hilts of his throwing knives, carefully concealed but easy to access. Adjusting his tie one last time, the elevator came to a jolting halt as it reached the top floor. Opening the gate and walking through, Ito saw only one door in front of him. A large silver crest was mounted above a brass door knocker. Firmly, he gave three short knocks and stepped back to wait.

After a moment, the lock unlatched and the door swung wide. Standing strong and holding the door with her bare muscled arm, was the Baroness. She wore a black strapless stealth-cut dress with a light gray shawl. Her long onyx hair draped back behind her firm shoulders as she pursed her lips, highlighting her high exotic cheekbones. Leaning to one side, she exposed the outline of a powerful thigh, resting a hand on her firm hip.

"_Oh shit." _ Breaker exclaimed as he began to furiously type on his keyboard. "_Let me run a scan to see if the apartment contains any security. Just stay where you and don't go in." _

The Baroness widened her smile and walked behind Ito, gently, but firmly placing her hands on his shoulder and waist. She pulled him in close, forcing him into the apartment.

"Professor Ruíz. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. Sorry for any inconvenience, but Laird McCullen must always take the highest security." She stated as she ushered him in.

As Ito walked through, his earpiece clicked, then omitted a soft static snow. He was cut off from Breaker. However, a few seconds later the schematic from his eyepiece came up and started to scan the room. A small screen appeared, displaying a line of growing text.

THE BARONESS'S SECURITY IS BLOCKING MY AUDIO. I STILL HAVE VISUAL.

"Please, let me take your jacket." The Baroness continued, as she moved her hands around the back of Ito's collar.

"Oh, no, that is fine." Ito replied, the voice modulator translating his English to Spanish. "The winter months always give me an endless chill." He stated, twisting out of the Baroness's grip, moving further into the house. Breaker continued his scan of the front parlor.

"My apologies, Professor. The wind has picked up outside hasn't it?" The Baroness said, now looking at the metal case under Ito's arm. Catching his gaze, she quickly looked up, smiling again. "Please, come in. I have set up a spot in our library where we can display the painting and talk." She said, leading Ito down the hall.

Quick Kick walked into the library, unable to conceal his awe at the rising shelves of books, hand carved tables, velvet seating chairs, and the expansive stained glass window.

"What a marvelous sanctuary." Ito said aloud, turning at the Baroness, giving a short bow. "I am truly envious." He stated.

NOT BAD. Came the text across his eyepiece.

"Here. I have set up an easel for us to admire the Millais." The Baroness said, walking over to the easel in the corner of the library. "May I?" She asked, holding out her hands, looking at the metal case under Ito's arm.

Ito hesitated for a moment, and then carefully handed the case over to the Baroness. He smiled, looking down at the ground, before up at her again.

"I apologize. It's just a little uncomfortable any time the painting is being handled. It has been in our family for generations." Ito stated.

"I will make sure to take extreme care." The Baroness replied, taking the case and walking over to the easel.

Putting on a pair of restoration gloves, she opened the case, slowly removing the rolled canvas. She then mounted the painting on the easel and stepped back, taking it in. Turning back to Ito, she smiled genuinely.

"Let's first have a toast. What will you have?" She asked, moving over to a medium sized dark acorn liquor cabinet. Sliding open the doors, Ito saw rows of crystal decanters.

"Rum?" He asked.

"I have a twenty-five-year Don Poncho?" She offered, grabbing a short bottle off the shelf.

"Perfect." Ito replied.

RUM GUY HUH? Breaker wrote from Ito's eyepiece.

The Baroness poured the glass and then removed another decanter, filling hers with scotch. Walking back to the painting, she handed Ito his drink.

"A toast." She said, raising her glass. "To the Maid of Orleans. It's astounding how Millais was able to capture the stout expressiveness of both inevitability _and _morality at the precise moment she is visited by Saint Michael, Margaret, and Catherine. It's right before she goes into battle against the English. I always find it interesting seeing peoples' expressions when they know they are going to die." She said, clinking her glass against Ito's and taking a small sip. Her smile widened and her eyes went sharp.

Walking over to a small table behind the easel, she removed a leather-bound manuscript. Ito took a step back, moving his hand over his stomach, closer to his throwing knives. To his relief, the Baroness removed what looked like a small remote. She pointed it at the wall. The shelf to his left slid up, revealing a television monitor.

The screen blinked and soon an image came into focus. Ito squinted, and saw a group of soldiers kneeling, their hands tied behind their backs. Armed guards walked around the men in the center of the room. Immediately, Ito recognized one as his commanding officer Duke, his face bruised and bloody.

"A valiant effort, but your skills are far from Zartan's." The Baroness stated, removing a pistol pointed directly at Quick Kick. "Please, take off the mask." She asked.

Ito stood frozen for a few moments before realizing he was out of options. Pulling off the mask, his long black hair fell around his shoulders. The Baroness gave a short-amused laugh.

"Excellent! How fantastic." She said, walking over, pointing to the screen. "But my dear Quick Kick, that looks just like you doesn't it?" She asked sarcastically, pointing to the Steel Brigader who was disguised as him.

"How can you possibly be in two places at once?" The Baroness laughed loudly again, the gun still pointed at Quick Kick.

"An ingenious plan, I have to say. Destro and I anticipated Cobra, but not yourselves. We set up the drop at the park to see what Cobra's play would be. At first, we thought you were on mission in Abysmia. But that was the point wasn't it? The deception? Cunning. We were surprised when you showed up at Retiro Park, but that is why we have contingencies, don't we?" She asked, walking over to an antique phone by the library door.

Picking up the receiver she, dialed a number before relaying a string of codes. Grabbing the base of the phone, she walked back over to Ito, the long golden cord snaking behind her.

"I am connected to the armed guard standing to the right of your comrades. I will give you a few moments to make your peace with them." She said. Ito looked at her furiously through his growing wet eyes. The text from Breaker became blurred.

"Please. This was my mission. Take me instead. Let them go." He pleaded, gesturing to the screen.

"I intend to." The Baroness stated before she gave the order over the receiver to fire.

Ito turned to the monitor and watched as the guard lowered his rifle, and let out a string of bullets. The men tried to duck out of the way, but a few fell lifeless to the floor. He couldn't tell who they were. The Baroness quickly shut off the monitor and raised her gun.

Without hesitation, Ito flipped his drink toward the painting. The dark amber liquid splashed across the canvas, dripping to the carpet. The Baroness looked at Ito with an expression of shock and anger. Before she could pull the trigger, Ito grabbed a throwing knife and whipped it at the Millais. It stuck firmly in the canvas by Joan of Arc's red tunic.

Straightening her arm, the Baroness fired as Ito let loose a second dagger. The blade hit the hilt of the other knife, letting off a large spark, instantly igniting the over-proofed rum and engulfing the painting in flames.

The Baroness screamed, firing two more shots at Ito, hitting him in the chest and stomach before hurling a throw rug over the painting. Plumes of smoke poured out from the sides of the rug. A few seconds later, the fire alarms in the building went off.

Ito let the back of his head fall gently on the floor as he looked up at the ceiling. The alarm was blaring but it seemed far off in the distance. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. The screen coming from his eyepiece was scrolling lines of text, but he couldn't read. It was blurry, and soon, his mind drifted off as his eyes closed softly.

**Chapter 11**

Breaker kicked open the door to the apartment adjacent to the Baroness's building. Ignoring the rickety elevator, he ran down the stairs, clearing five or six stairs at a time. Reaching the tile floor of the lobby, Breaker burst through the front doors.

Four fire engines, six police cars, and a Guardia Civil military van were already blocking the front entrance to the building. Residents were streaming out, some in their bare feet, all looking up at the windows for any trace of a fire. Seeing the military van, Breaker immediately ducked behind a group of passing pedestrians.

His mind kept racing back to the flashes from the Baroness's gun, and Quick Kick falling to the ground. She shot him three times. If he wasn't dead already, he would be soon if he didn't get to a hospital.

Coming to the conclusion that their cover and mission was blown, Breaker grabbed his identification and surged toward the front door. He was able to make it past the firemen and police but was stopped by two Guardia Civil soldiers who blocked his way with their machine guns. Rattling off his credentials in fluent Spanish, Breaker tried to explain who he was, and that there was a U.S. soldier in the building bleeding to death.

The Guardia Civil just looked back at Breaker with unreadable expressions. One grabbed his identification card, while the other moved closer, pushing him back by their van.

"Please Señor. If you just wait here with us, we will call this in." The soldier stated while the other hopped in the vehicle.

It was then that Breaker realized his mistake. He had walked right into the Baroness's hand. Looking at the throng of emergency vehicles, he realized there were too many for a simple fire alarm. The Baroness must have alerted the Guardia Civil herself. There were there to delay him as long as possible. Side stepping to his left, Breaker tried to get a better view of who was exiting the building, but the soldier shadowed him, blocking his view.

"Please, Señor. It won't be long." The soldier stated, gripping his gun tightly with both hands.

Finally, an ambulance arrived up with the letters S.E.M printed on the side for Servicios de Emergencias Médicas. The back doors to the ambulance popped open and two emergency technicians hopped out, unloading a rolling stretcher and steering it into the building.

The next ten minutes were agonizing as Breaker waited for the EMTs to emerge, wondering if Quick Kick would be alive or if the Baroness had killed him. _But that would be to brazen for her, _Breaker thought to himself. If Quick Kick was killed, it would be a much larger news story than a simple fire alarm. If Ito lived though, the Baroness could pass it off as a routine emergency response. That would be her preference if she wanted to keep a low profile and try to salvage what she could of the painting. _The painting, _Breaker remembered. Ito had set it on fire.

Breaking his train of thought, the doors to the apartment building sprung open as the EMTs carefully brought out the stretcher. His eyes were closed and he had a tube coming out of his mouth, but Ito was alive, strapped down. His face was pale, with beads of sweat dropping off his forehead. The EMTs shouted as the crowd made a path to the ambulance.

Breaker took a couple steps forward before the Guardia Civil blocked him, pushing him back. As Quick Kick rolled by, Breaker saw his chest slowly rising and falling, and an initial sense of relief washed over him. _Thank God he's breathing, _Breaker thought as he took a step back from the soldier.

"Where are they taking him?" Breaker asked the soldier, who remained silent, unsure of what to say. Breaker continued to prod.

"That person they just carted out is a U.S. Intelligence Officer with diplomatic credentials. The _last _thing you want to do is not tell me where they're taking him!" Breaker was yelling now.

His frustration, anger, and concern for his friend and teammate had taken over and his muscles were surging. Surprising the soldier, Breaker yelled again, chest butting him forward.

"Where are they taking him? Answer me!" He shouted again, growing bigger as his impatience increased. The young soldier started to back down, showing his inexperience under pressure. Breaker moved closer, now inches away from the soldier's face.

"Answer me!" He screamed.

"Señor!" Came a shout from behind. Breaker whipped around to see the second soldier, holding his credentials out in front of him.

"Please, Señor! Calm down. Everything you said checked out. Your friend is being taken to La Paz University Hospital." The soldier stated, handing Breaker back his ID. He opened the door to the van, pointing in with the tip of his rifle.

"I have been instructed by my superior to escort you there personally." The soldier stated. Now, the other soldier was standing right behind him, nudging Breaker forward with his gun.

Breaker sighed and reluctantly got in the van, realizing there would be no chance for him to investigate the scene. He figured by the time they drove him to the hospital, all the evidence at the Baroness's apartment would be gone, and a plausible and deniable cover story would be created. But deep down, he was just hoping his friend would live.

**Chapter 12**

It took a little more than an hour for the Guardia Civil to arrive at La Paz University Hospital. Breaker had refrained from challenging them any further. It just wasn't worth it, he realized, thinking they would just delay him more if he continued to cause trouble.

Getting out of the van, Breaker slammed the door shut and walked to the front entrance past a large statue of a woman sitting with her legs crossed. Her thin frame and large hips reminded him of his wife when she was pregnant with Amy. Amy's face rushed into the forefront of his mind.

With everything falling apart, he hadn't realized the impact of their mission failure until now. If the Steel Brigaders' who had taken their place were killed, then technically, he and Quick Kick were also dead. They were no longer able to have any contact with their families.

Images of Breaker's daughter raced back into his head and he tried to freeze them forever so they would never fade. As the weight of his current reality started to set in, Breaker shook it off as he entered the hospital. Quick Kick first, then, he would deal with the fallout.

Standing in the lobby, Breaker pulled out a small handheld device about the size of a pocket notebook. A small screen lit up, before a line of text appeared, welcoming him to the hospital's computer database. Maneuvering to a set of files titled _admittance, _Breaker entered the estimated timeframe that Quick Kick would have arrived. A small list appeared with eleven names. Scanning the names, he found one named _Fulano, _the Spanish equivalent for John Doe. Pressing another button on the device, a line of text appeared letting Breaker know what room _Fulano_ was admitted to.

Moving out of the lobby, Breaker walked to the elevators and clicked the button for the fourteenth floor. Pushing himself out of the elevator, he briskly walked to Quick Kick's room. Positioning himself with his back against the wall, Breaker reached for his gun. Carefully removing the pistol, he quietly counted to three before bursting into the room.

A moment of shock and confusion froze him in place. There were no patients in the room, just a made, empty bed. A surge of panic overcame Breaker as he feared Cobra had gotten to Ito first, or that the Baroness came back to finish the job.

"Don't worry, we got to him first." Came a low, familiar voice from behind him.

Breaker spun around. Recognizing who it was, he lowered his weapon and sat down on the end of the bed, dejected.

Grabbing both arms of the chair, Flint gave a short grunt as he rose from his seat.

Flint's hair was dark brown, with a few youthful wisps dropping in front of his eyes. His facial features were cut and powerful and his shoulders bulged as he wiped down his black button-down shirt.

"Quick Kick is on the way to a safehouse we have deep in the mountains. Right now, they are giving him a fifty-fifty chance." Flint said, taking another step toward Breaker.

"Duke…the others?" Breaker stammered. "The Baroness made us. She was tracking our movements both here and in Abysmia. I saw her give kill orders. What happened?" Breaker asked, his eyes getting wet.

Flint let out a long sigh and then sat down on the bed next to Breaker. Looking straight ahead, he spoke.

"Doc, Heavy Metal, Thunder, and Crankcase, were all killed execution style. Duke was able to get out with the Steel Brigaders and Crazylegs." Flint said, before pausing to take another deep breath.

"They escaped?" Breaker asked. For a moment, he thought everything would be fine. But the expression on Flint's face told him the opposite.

"They did. For a while. Crazylegs and the two Steel Brigaders stole a military vehicle. However, it was destroyed. Duke was the only one to survive." Flint stated. He dropped his head, slowly signaling he was finished with his report.

Breaker began to process what Flint had just said. Five of his teammates were killed, plus the Steel Brigaders who were impersonating himself and Quick Kick. It was devastating, and even though _he _was alive, his life was over.

"So we failed." Breaker said, the words dropping out of his mouth as he spoke.

Flint raised his head and looked at Breaker. He wasn't angry, upset, or ashamed. Instead, he looked sad and proud. He put his hand gently on Breaker's shoulder.

"Yes, the mission to Abysmia failed. But _your _mission _here_ succeeded. You and Quick Kick located the drop, tracked down the contact, uncovered Cobra's involvement, and prevented Destro from obtaining the painting to create a new super soldier. Even though we took on heavy casualties in Abysmia, your efforts here will save thousands of lives." Flint stated, removing his hand from Breaker's shoulder.

"And what about my life now?" Breaker asked, tears running down his cheeks. Flint saw Breaker had removed a small picture of him and his daughter. Closing his eyes, Flint let out a deep breath.

"Don't worry about your wife and daughter. Duke has assured me we will look after them. But as I am sure you are aware, your awards, career, and permanent records will be deleted. We'll make sure to provide you with a new identity and cover, but you cannot have any type of communication with any family, friends, or colleagues. Here." Flint said, giving Breaker a leather case.

Unzipping it, Breaker found a passport, social security card, driver's license, credit cards, bank statements, and a set of keys.

"Those are your new credentials, bank account information, and the keys are to your new car and apartment." Flint said, giving Breaker time to process.

Breaker looked down, flipping through the paperwork and documentation.

"Steven Billings?" He asked aimlessly in the room.

"Your new name." Flint said, placing his hand on Breaker's shoulder again. Flint took another breath. "I know it's against the rules, but if you need to reach out for anything, I'm here. Breaker, I can't tell you how sorry I am. You're a good soldier and you don't deserve this. Please, if there is anything Jaye or I can do, let us know." Flint stated, rising from the bed. He turned before leaving to face Breaker one last time.

"There is a plane ticket in there as well. Your flight leaves in two hours. I have to make sure you are on that plane, so when you're ready, we can head to the airport together, ok?" Flint stated, shuffling his boots by the doorway.

Breaker's head remained down, looking at the picture of his daughter, rubbing his thumb gently over the image of her face.

**Chapter 13**

**20 Years Later**

Boston, Massachusetts  
May 2011

Breaker sat alone on one side of a city bench by a small patch of green off the Charles River. Large cumulus clouds hung frozen against a cobalt sky, the sun's reflection glistening up from the water. A half a dozen sail boats coasted by on fast-moving crests under the Longfellow Bridge. Every so often, the smell of meat and grease wafted by from the nearby Buzzy's Roast Beef stand.

Breaker looked up at the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary, a solid brown rectangle with long rows of windows. He stared at a corner window on the seventeenth floor. Running his fingers through his salt and pepper beard, looking down at his worn pair of Rockports.

Reaching into his pants pocket, he removed a newspaper clipping torn from last week's Globe. His thumb gently caressed the black and white image of a young woman, dressed in formal military attire. Again, he raised his head, searching for the corner window on the seventeenth floor. That was where his daughter, Amy, was being treated.

Twenty years after his mission in Madrid, Breaker travelled to cities he could easily get lost in like Istanbul, Cape Town, New Delhi, Bangkok. He spent most of his time in solitude, working at local libraries, or schools. The most fulfilling job he held was as a custodian for an elementary school in St. Petersburg.

He tried being a part of the community, but he could never escape his past and the memories that came with it. Breaker felt that if he kept travelling, getting as far away as possible, he could escape everything he had lost. However, whatever solace he was able to find was fleeting, and he continued to move.

It was fifteen years after he started running when he decided to make a change. Working as an archivist in Mexico City, he came across an article about a mission he had run years back in Sinaloa. The governor's daughter had been captured by a group of guerrillas deep in the forest. Breaker had run communications on the op with Duke on the ground.

When the emotions came pouring back, instead of running, Breaker finally decided to find his family. Working with his access as an archivist, he learned that his wife had died a year earlier from breast cancer. Devastated, Breaker cursed himself for not being able to be there for her and his daughter. He cursed his ambition for being the reason he lost them. He wept for his daughter who had to go through losing both of her parents. And he blamed himself for running on an endless journey that had taken him nowhere.

However, as he continued to search, he realized his daughter had taken a completely different path dealing with her grief. Instead of running like he had done, she had taken charge of her life. After his reported death, she excelled with her schooling, becoming a track star in high school and getting full scholarships to Stanford, Yale, and Harvard.

She decided to enroll in West Point instead. Breaker learned her motivation was because of him. Graduating top of her class, she had two tours in Afghanistan before getting promoted. After that, it was difficult for him to track her whereabouts with the limited access he had. He figured she had been assigned to some deep cover ops.

Breaker decided he needed to get as close to his daughter as he could, even if he couldn't communicate with her. He moved back to the states, getting a small apartment, just outside Boston, and worked in a small antique bookstore down a cobblestone alleyway off Harvard Square.

The old bookstore had occupied the first two floors and basement of a five-story brick-stone for the past 140 years. Breaker selected the job because it was right next to Harvard's main campus. Acquiring a library card in trade for a round of beers from a college kid in need of money, Breaker hacked into the Harvard mainframe, setting himself up with access to the University's science, technology, and engineering buildings.

As the years churned on, Breaker spent his days in the basement of the bookstore, cataloging and reading through age old manuscripts. At night, he worked with his access to the University's buildings and databases, tracking the movements of his daughter Amy. When he learned she had returned to the Boston area for some R&R, Breaker would find some peace. He always kept his promise to Duke that he would not reach out, but just knowing she was close to him made him feel somewhat whole again.

Breaker knew something was wrong when his boss came down the week before and gave him a piece of mail. He never got mail, not at his apartment, and definitely not at work. There was no return address, but when Breaker saw the small card inside, he knew exactly where it came from. It was the same cardstock that he used to send messages when he was a Joe. Flipping it over, he saw only an address, date, and time. The only other thing in the envelope was the newspaper clipping he now held in his hands.

The clipping reported that his daughter was severely wounded breaking up an attempted robbery at a local convenient store. A down-on-his-luck kid had stolen his father's shotgun and busted into the store, demanding cash and the credit card machine. Breaker's daughter and her friend who was a Marine, were in the store and jumped the kid. Trying to get the gun out of his hands, it went off, blowing off his daughter's right arm at the elbow. They had managed to wrestle the kid to the ground, but she had lost a lot of blood and was raced to the hospital in critical condition.

The newspaper article said that Amy was taken to Mass General, but when Breaker hacked into their system, he couldn't find any record of her. He searched Brigham and Women's and Beth Israel but she wasn't admitted to either. Breaker then checked the address on the cardstock and found it was located right by the Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary.

Checking their database, he was surprised to find his daughter was admitted. The Eye and Ear Infirmary was more specialized, but as he started to think about it, it made sense. If his daughter was involved in deep cover missions, they would want to keep her safe. Searching a bit more, he found her room number and immediately went to the address at the time and date listed on the card.

Breaker looked up again at the hospital window and then to the Charles as an older man sat down on the bench next to him. It took a few moments, but through the gray hair and wrinkles, Breaker recognized his old teammate, Spirit. His hair still had a few black streaks from his youth and was tied back behind his head under a large cowboy hat.

A beaded medallion of an eagle was on one side of the hat with two large eagle feathers coming out of the back. He wore a light western-style shirt with a pair of blue jeans and cowboy boots. His belt buckle was decorated in a traditional Pueblo design and he had a large Bowie knife strapped to his thigh. Tipping his hat, Spirit gave Breaker a warm smile.

"It's good to see you again old friend. I have to say, I like the beard." Spirit stated.

"How's my daughter?" Breaker asked. Spirit let out a long breath.

"She'll live, though she lost her right arm below the elbow. I am not sure if you know this, but we were planning on recruiting her. Now, her condition will make things difficult. Unless…" Spirit trailed off, looking at Breaker with a wide smile.

"Unless what? I'm not permitted to have any communication with her and I haven't. For twenty years I have kept my distance." Decades of emotional guilt, anger, and pain started to boil over.

Spirit reached over and laid a big palm on his shoulder.

"Easy, friend. I know this is extremely difficult and I am so sorry for all you have gone through. Please, let me try to explain." Spirit paused before continuing. "You were not allowed to have contact, that is true." Spirit then crossed his arms, giving Breaker a wink. "However, there will be a changing of the guard in our team relatively soon. You see, Duke is retiring."

"Retiring? I didn't even know he knew what the word meant." Breaker joked. Spirit let out a low booming laugh.

"Very true. Still, time has a way of changing our perspective, no?" Spirit stated. "Anyway, it looks like when Duke steps down, the powers that be want me to take his place." Spirit stated.

It was Breaker's turn to let out a short laugh. Spirit shot him a conniving grin.

"What's wrong with me?" Spirit questioned. Breaker caught himself and stopped laughing.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just thinking they would've selected Flint." Breaker stated.

Spirit's expression shifted somberly. He looked Breaker straight in the eyes.

"Jaye's dead." Spirit said, then looked down at his boots. "Flint. He…just hasn't been the same since."

Breaker's stomach began to churn. First the news about his daughter, and now learning that Lady Jaye had been killed erased his current thinking. He looked back out at the water, an image of Lady Jaye flashing across his memory.

"I'm sorry." Breaker got out before the two sat in silence. Finally, Spirit continued.

"I am here today because your daughter Amy, is an intricate part of the future plans I have for the Joes. While we have a lot of good fighters, the future needs more sharp minds and good souls. I believe that is the sort of thing we'll need to fight whatever it is we'll face. I have seen it. Yes, Amy was an exceptional soldier, but it is her intelligence and leadership are her most powerful traits. We _need _her. Losing her arm has resulted in her losing her spirit. That's why I am here today talking to you. With me taking over, I've been thinking of making some changes. Changes that I think you might like." Spirit said, cocking an eyebrow, searching Breaker for how he would respond.

Breaker's eyes went wide, and he stammered as he started talking.

"You're saying I can see her?" Breaker asked, shocked.

"No. I am not saying that." Spirit said defiantly. "You are still forbidden to have any face-to-face contact with her." Sprit kept his arms crossed, still smiling at Breaker, winking again.

Breaker ran his hand through his beard eagerly. He was still confused, but he knew Spirit was trying to tell him something.

"No face-to-face contact, ok. But you're saying I can contact her in other ways?" Breaker asked. His sadness had faded rapidly like a fog in the morning sun. Spirit looked at him and scoffed playfully.

"You're the Communications Officer. What are you asking me for?" Spirit said as he brushed down his legs and stood up. He turned to Breaker.

"Just don't fail this mission, Breaker. Your daughter is going to be a big part of the Joes' future. Take care, ok?" Spirit said, holding out his hand.

Breaker jumped up from the bench, grabbing Spirit's forearm with both hands.

"Thank you old friend." Breaker said, before throwing both of his arms around him, giving Spirit a huge bear hug. Releasing him, a question that had been haunting him came to mind.

"Quick Kick? Did he survive?" Breaker asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"That information is classified." Spirit stated. Breaker's smile slowly began to crumble.

"If he's alive though, I'm sure he would want me to remind you that Kobe has only one less ring than Jordan, and will soon get his sixth, don't you think?" Spirit winked, before walking off.

"I guess he would." Breaker said to himself hopefully.

And for the first time in twenty years, Breaker had a severe craving for bubble gum.

**Chapter 14**

Boston, Massachusetts  
September 2011

Amy Kibbey sat on a gray sofa in her apartment in Allston, Massachusetts. It was late September and the window to her right was halfway open. A light, cool breeze fluttered through the studio apartment as the sounds of the morning commute were consistently interrupted by seagulls.

The medium sized flat screen TV in front of her was tuned to a daily cooking show, but her eyes wandered listlessly past to the walls behind it. Framed photos of her and her friends were scattered in no particular design. She focused on a picture of herself taken right before a rappelling class in southwest Colorado. Looking down, she was once again hit with the reality that mountain climbing was no longer an option for her anymore. The right sleeve of her blue cotton turtle-neck was tied in a loose knot where her forearm should have been.

It had been a month since she was released from the hospital. Since then, she had attended ongoing physical therapy and psychiatry appointments. Physically, the doctors said she was recovering well, but mentally, she was still extremely frail.

_Physically, _Amy thought sarcastically to herself as she brushed back a strand of long straight brown hair. At first, she had been strong and confident about her recovery. _I will just have to learn to do things a different way, _she thought to herself. Amy realized however, learning to do things a different way was the easy part.

She had figured out how to open a jar of tomato sauce with one hand, go to the bathroom, shower, cook herself a meal, but she hadn't gotten used to the fact things would never go back the way they were. It was as if she was waiting for one morning when she would wake up, and her arm would be back. Then, everything would go back to normal. No, the difficult part was that was never going to happen.

Looking down again at her knotted sleeve, Amy's eyes started to swell. Needing a distraction, she grabbed her laptop sitting on the couch next to her and flipped it open. Brushing her eyes, she launched her browser, bringing up her social media page.

It had been weeks since she had logged in, and a slew of notifications appeared, congratulating her from getting out of the hospital, commenting on her pictures from physical therapy, to her latest post of her and her cousin going out for dim sum. Again, her eyes started to water, and a voice began to beckon in the back of her head, reminding her that things would never be the same. A lump started to grow in her throat, and she feared she would never feel happy again, never feel whole.

As she switched to the weather, her screen suddenly went black. Amy tapped on her keyboard a few times before holding down the power button. The laptop light remained on, and even though the screen was dark, she could hear the tiny fans running like normal.

_Great, this is just what I need, _Amy thought to herself, wiping her teary eyes and holding down the power button again. Suddenly, the computer beeped, and Amy took her finger off the button. A string of green text appeared across the top of the screen.

AMY. PLEASE DON'T BE AFRAID.

Unfortunately, the message had the exact opposite effect. Her heart started to race and she grabbed for her phone lying on the couch. The message continued.

PLEASE. AMY. DON'T BE AFRAID. I AM SORRY. BUT THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN CONTACT YOU. I WISH I WAS ABLE TO CONTACT YOU SOONER.

The fear in Amy's gut began to subside and she slowly put her phone down. Not knowing what to do, she stared at the screen as the green cursor that continued to blink. Then, the writing continued.

AMY. PLEASE. IT'S ME, BUB. PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE.

The lump in Amy's stomach suddenly shot up and she gasped. Instinctually, her right arm moved as she tried to cover her mouth in shock. _It's me, Bub, _she whispered aloud. That was what her father used to call her. Bub, short for bubble gum. A distant memory of her playing catch with her dad came into the forefront of her mind.

She shook it off, returning to the text and the blinking cursor on the screen. Her father had died twenty years ago, and her mother ten years after that. The only person alive who knew her father called her 'Bub' was her cousin, but this sort of tech stuff wasn't anything he was capable of. Swiftly, she dropped her left hand to the keyboard and began to type.

WHO THE HELL IS THIS? I'M CALLING THE POLICE. Amy wrote.

The cursor kept blinking as she waited for a reply. Instead of more text, their conversation faded away. Then, an image started to pixilate on the monitor. Amy squinted as the image came into focus. She gasped again, but her hands were frozen to her side. On the screen, was a picture of her and her father. It was the same picture she had in a shoebox under her bed. The same picture that he took the summer before he left on his last mission, when he was killed.

The emptiness and depression she was feeling were swept away. Sitting up, she slowly pressed her fingers across the keyboard.

DAD? She typed.

YES, BUB. IT'S ME. IT'S A LONG STORY THAT I DON'T HAVE TIME TO GET INTO RIGHT NOW, BUT I NEVER MEANT TO HURT YOU. EVENTUALLY, YOU WILL KNOW EVERYTHING, BUT I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT RIGHT NOW, I AM HERE FOR YOU. EVEN IF I CAN ONLY TYPE, I AM HERE.

Amy waited a moment as tears started to fall down on her blue jeans. She quickly wiped them away as another sentence appeared on the screen.

CHECK YOUR MAILBOX.

Then, the screen blinked and her desktop reappeared, the browser open to the local weather. Amy closed out of the window and stared blankly before flinging the laptop on other side of the couch and racing to her door. Grabbing the mailbox key she kept in a small change tray, she flung the door open and ran down the hall. Her legs felt wobbly as she realized it was the first time she had run since coming back from the hospital. Reaching the elevator, she decided to take the stairs, not wanting to wait. Making sure to steady herself with her left arm, Amy made it down, clumsy at times. She reached the row of mailboxes as Mrs. Bennett, an elderly neighbor walked past with her small yippy brown dog.

"Miss Kibbey!" Mrs. Bennett exclaimed happily. "It is so good to see you on your feet again."

Amy smiled and nodded as the dog continued to yip.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bennett. Hi Mr. Cuddles!" She responded rapidly passing the woman and her dog.

Fumbling for the key, Amy took a deep breath before opening her mailbox. Inside, she found a small brown padded envelope. Taking it out, she ripped the corner off with her teeth, tucking it under her right armpit as she grabbed for the contents.

Inside, was a small photo and a key. The photo was the same one that she had in her shoe box, the same one that just appeared on her laptop. But this picture had seen wear. The edges were worn and a bit at the bottom was torn and re-taped. The image had faded, and as she looked at it, she realized it must have belonged to her father.

Turning it over, was a printed date, July 4, 1990. Amy remembered that her father took the picture in their backyard as they were barbecuing for the holiday. Below the date was an address on Milk street in downtown Boston. Amy looked at the card, and then at the key. Checking that her wallet was in her back pocket, she pushed through the doors of her apartment building and jogged toward Route 30 to catch a cab.

The cab took her to Milk Street, right outside Downtown Crossing. Named from the old cattle paths when the city was in its youth, Milk street winded through the heart of Boston. Lined with government and financial institutions, the street was like a narrow canyon cutting through a row of high rising steel and concrete.

Amy looked at the address printed on the back of the picture and followed the street for another a quarter mile until she stopped in front of a small stone house, fortified by old wooden beams. The windows were dark, and the small three-story home was sandwiched tightly between two fifteen-story behemoths. Amy stood curiously, wondering how a small home could remain downtown amongst the modern buildings and skyscrapers. Still, Boston was home to many of these colonial structures that had stood steadfast as the generations and decades churned on.

She walked up to the large door, solid oak with large metal hinges. Inserting the key into the lock, Amy pushed through. The house was dry and quiet. Sunlight streamed through a large circular window above the door. Turning around, Amy saw the light shone on a large painting that hung in the foyer.

The painting was of her father, in military uniform smiling in the midst of blowing a bubble gum bubble. Next to him, were two soldiers, both African-American. One was tall and muscular with a bald head. The other was shorter with a short afro and mustache. It looked like they were in the jungle and they all appeared to be having fun. Amy stared at the painting of her father, admiring his young features and smile.

Walking up the twisting wooden staircase, she found the master bedroom, an extensive library, and a full bath, completely stocked with towels, and soaps. Downstairs, Amy walked through the kitchen, admiring the modern stainless-steel appliances, and knife rack. The cabinets and fridge fully stocked. She grabbed a jug of milk, inspecting the sell by date. It was a week away.

"Dad?" She called out, not sure what was going on.

It was clear that someone was living in the house, but it appeared empty. Walking through the kitchen, Amy found a half bath and a living room. The living room had a flat screen tv in the far-right corner and to the left was a sliding door that opened up into a small porch. A suede couch sat in the middle of the room with a rocking chair next to a side table occupying a cozy reading nook. Again, there was no one around.

Amy walked back into the kitchen and pulled out a seat at the table, not sure what she was supposed to do. Then, she realized she forgot her laptop. Cursing to herself, Amy figured she was probably supposed to boot up in the house to continue their discussion. She remembered her father had said he could only type to communicate. Cursing herself again, Amy sat, deciding if she should head home and come back the next day. Looking at the time, it was getting late, and travelling like everything else, always took longer after her accident.

It was then that she spotted a small door to her right behind a rolling island. Moving the piece of kitchen furniture away, Amy realized the door led to the basement. Reaching to grab the doorknob, she paused when she saw a small digital keypad.

Her heart began to race as her instincts told her whatever was on the other side of the door was why her father brought her to the house. Looking down at the keypad, she wondered what the code could be. Pressing the menu button, the panel requested a six-digit code.

Six digits. Was it her birthday? Her dad's birthday? Or maybe it was her mothers, or cousins. Maybe it wasn't her birthday, or a date at all. Panic set in as she realized she had forgotten her father and mother's birthdays. _No, _she thought to herself. It wouldn't be that obvious.

Starting to pace in the middle of the kitchen, Amy closed her eyes and started re-playing the conversation she had with her father on her computer. _If he wanted me to find this place and get through this door, he would have already given me the code, _she thought.

Frustrated that she was getting nowhere, she thought forward to when she found the envelope in her mailbox. _The envelope! _Amy thought. What if the code was on the address. She remembered there was no return address, but something could have been written on the inside, or coded on the outside. She turned and raced toward the door, hoping no one had thrown out the envelope.

As she pushed herself through to the city street, she pulled out the worn and faded picture from her pocket. An hour ago, she was stuck in her depression, not knowing how she could find a way out. Now, the unbelievable had happened. Looking down at the picture, she smiled and closed her eyes, trying to remember that day. It was the fourth of July and her cousin had just arrived at their house, wanting to play on their playground. She was about to, when her dad pulled her in for a picture. He had asked what she wanted on her hot dog.

"_It's the fourth of July, Bub! Everyone should have a hot dog." _Her father had said before he went back to the grill, turning up the Rolling Stones on the radio.

Then, it hit her. Amy spun around and raced back into the house, kicking the oaken door wide as she charged back into the kitchen. Standing in front of the cellar door, she pulled out the photo and turned it over. She read aloud, _July fourth, nineteen ninety. _Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself before typing in 0-7-0-4-9-0.

There was a beep, followed by a short hiss, and then the door popped open. Amy's left hand was shaking as she slowly pulled the door open and peered down the stairwell. The stairs descended into darkness, but as she took a step in, a string of motion sensor lights lit up along the right wall. Amy slowly walked down, holding the railing.

"Dad?" She called out again.

When she reached the bottom, another set of lights flickered from the ceiling. Amy found herself in a small room, full of what looked like large pieces of furniture, covered in opaque plastic sheets. Grabbing one closest to her, Amy pulled it down, revealing what looked like a large recording device from decades earlier.

Moving further into the room, Amy looked under other sheets, finding similar equipment and devices. As she got closer to the far wall, she saw a small laptop unfolded by the back-right corner. The computer flashed on, and the monitor began to glow. Amy maneuvered her way around the clutter toward the console. Sitting down in a chair, the laptop finished booting and a familiar string of green text appeared.

BUB? ARE YOU THERE?

Amy let out a laugh and slapped her left hand on her thigh. She replied.

YES DAD. IT'S ME. After a short moment, she continued. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH.

I MISSED YOU TOO, BUB. AND I AM SO SORRY I WASN'T ABLE TO REACH OUT. I WAS ON A MISSION THAT WENT SOUTH. I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT IT IN TIME. BUT NOW, I AM HERE FOR YOU.

Tears started to stream down Amy's face over an open smile. She laughed quietly to herself as she typed.

I AM OK NOW THAT I KNOW YOU ARE WITH ME. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DAD.

Amy sat back in the chair and let out a deep breath. She closed her eyes, trying to process everything that was happening. When she opened them, she cocked her head, not knowing what the next message meant.

I LOVE YOU TOO BUB. ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN?

"Begin what?"Amy asked aloud as she typed the same question on the screen.

BEGIN YOUR TRAINING. Was the reply.

Amy stared at the screen in confusion. _Maybe he doesn't know the extent of my injuries? _She thought to herself before typing back.

DAD. I LOST MY ARM. MY TRAINING IS OVER.

She continued to stare at the screen as the green cursor flashed, blinking as the next message came across the monitor.

COMBAT IS NOT THE ONLY PATH TO BECOMING A JOE. THE REAL QUESTION IS YOURS. ARE YOU READY TO MOVE FORWARD?

Amy took another deep breath and looked down at her arm. While she was not whole, she could feel her confidence beginning to spark. Her father gave no indication of what she was going to be training for, but she didn't care. She would do anything if it meant having him back in her life. Placing her left hand on the keyboard, she answered.

YES. I AM READY.

Leaning back, she read her father's reply. Another big smile widened on her face. The message read.

WELL THEN AGENT BREAKER, LET'S BEGIN.

**THE END**

To be continued in _G.I. Joe: Agent Blue Jaye and the Blood of Serpentor_, coming out summer/fall 2020


End file.
